Blast from the past...

I just had dinner with a very ex ex-boyfriend. The Canadian and I dated well over a year ago, and things ended pretty badly. He was in town overnight because of a flight layover, and we met for dinner at Mexican restaurant.

One of my biggest complaints while dating the Canadian was his penchant for shopping. He liked shopping for clothes more than any woman I have ever known. He particularly liked the Oakley store. At one point, every item of his casual attire displayed the Oakley logo. However, this was at least a year and a half ago. I thought Oakley would have gone by the wayside by now. Apparently, very little has changed in the world of the Canadian, because as I walked out on to the patio, the very first thing I noticed was that he was wearing an Oakley shirt. Damn.

I had fun. The main reason I had fun is because I know I looked great. I looked fantastic. I was the hottie of all hotties, the likes of which he had never associated with before. He mentioned the fact that I looked awesome at least three times. (While getting ready for this dinner, my mind went in several directions, including wondering if we would hook up again. Once I saw him, that thought no longer entered my brain. ) I'm so far over this guy. Way over him. It feels good to know that, especially since I had a bitch of a time getting over him.

Hell, I'm way out of his league these days.

And the ridiculously fun part was that I think he knows that now, too.

Men Who Can't Be Alone: Tales of a Dickless Man

I hate men who can't be alone. I'ts bad enough when you're dating one, it's even worse when they cheat on you, break up with you, and then start terrorizing every aspect of your life.

I dated Dickless for about six months, if that. He couldn't really do anything for himself. Among other things, he couldn't even write his own resume. Being the naive sucker that I was, I wrote it for him. Turns out the whole thing was a fabrication, anyway. Not only did he not graduate from college like he claimed he did, the idiot didn't even graduate from high school. Needless to say, this is one of the many reasons I felt used and manipulated.

He was dumb. Actually, dumb doesn't cover it. Try Exceptionally Slow. Ridiculously Stupid. I REALLY should have been able to figure out that this was no college graduate. Within two weeks of dating him, I had determined that he thought both BOSTON and PHILADELPHIA were STATES. I guess I was blinded by the crazy awesome sex...

So the point of my little rant fest is this. It's Friday night, or I guess actually Saturday morning, around 3:45 and I get a knock on the door. Who the hell knocks on my door in the middle of the night? Apparently Dickless is tired of his current girlfriend. The idiot actually put his finger over the peephole as he continually knocked. Does anybody actually have the thought process, "Gee, I can't see out of the peephole because someone is clearly covering it up, so let me open the door ANYWAY and see who's there..."? Especially at 4 a.m.?

The knocking continued, so I asked who was there, even though I already knew. All I heard was his voice sobbing my name and telling me that he really needed to talk to someone. Damn. What a loser. Keep in mind that I happen to have a protective order against this guy, stating that it is a criminal offense if he comes within 200 yards of my home or work. So I called the cops on his sorry ass. Of course, he was easily able to leave by the time he saw the police car, but I don't really care. I just wanted a police escort to check and make sure all four of tires were still intact this time. (He has a history of vandalizing my car...)

About 20 minutes after the cops left, he came back, knocking and crying for a while a longer. Through the locked door, I laughed and told him to get real. I then went back to bed with my white noise machine on high. I woke up half an hour later and I think I still heard him there. By the time the sun came up, he was gone.

What a fabulous way to end my spring break. Thanks, Dickless.

Walkin in Memphis...

I realize that the statement "I'm having a love affair with my apartment" may be odd to some, (see my profile...) but tonight is a perfect example of why I'm in love with Xanadu. I've had a royally shitty week. I've put in an average of 12 hours a day this week. I'm exhausted.

Fortunately, I've got Spring Break next week (ROCK ON... exactly 227 hours until I have to go back to school) so I don't feel obligated to go out tonight. I've been craving cake for weeks, so I stopped at Kroger on my way home from school today and bought cake mix. Unfortunately, ever since 40's chili experience, I've also been craving chili. So I also bought stuff to make chili. Including beer. I dont even like beer....

So I'm getting off topic. I'm currently experimenting with chili ingredients and consuming a very large bottle of wine in the process. (There's also a half empty bottle of beer on the counter and 5 more in the fridge... it'll all get consumed eventually... Hell, 40 will drink just about anything - even light beer...)

All I'm doing right now is listening to our awesome playlist and cooking chili. The awesome playlist includes everything from OutKast to Wagner... (think 'Ride of the Valkyries') Then I hear "Walkin' in Memphis..." I'm sorry... I don't care who you the fuck you are, but this is an AWESOME song... All of a sudden it occurs to me that I am happier than I have been all week, just because I'm hanging out in Xanadu, listening to random late 80's or early 90's music, experimenting with food and slowly getting intoxicated... God damn, I'm lucky. I love my life.

And 40, if you read this, I hope you're having fun in El Paso. I miss you... random food experiments are much more fun with your company...

I always sucked at this game...

I just wasted about fifteen minutes of my life trying to find an actor or actress with a higher Kevin Bacon factor than 3. This damn thing is addictive...

Easy Money

I just spent a fun-filled evening taking part in a focus group. At first, I thought it would suck and 'd be bored out of mind, but my debt-laden ass was willing to make the sacrifice for the cash... Turns out, spending two hours sitting in a room with 7 other math teachers saying what we did and didn’t like about sample textbook chapters, followed by me walking out with a $100 check, is not an entirely unpleasant way to spend an evening. I actually kind of enjoyed it... Who’d have thunk it?
I guess what I really want to know is how I get to be a part of the beer focus group that was taking place next door. I wonder how much they got paid....