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2005-12-05 - 7:43 p.m. Silly and Self-Absorbed Rambling Ready for it? Here goes. My Drinky Crushes There was this guy back home, DTDR. He was okay looking. He was not my type. I stress -- NOT my type. At all. Drug issues I don't deal with, not into books, really sweet guy but totally not my type. But every time I was drinky or otherwise inebriated and I ran into him, I thought he was, like, THE cutest boy in the universe. No guff. So I think I've found my Fresno equivalent. It's this really cool guy whom I've only met once. And he's totally nice, maybe a little bit closer to my type, but really -- I've only met him once, I don't know all that much about him, and he's not my boyfriend. This is an important fact to stress -- 'open relationship' or not, my current boyfriend is one of the most amazing, beautiful, compassionate people I have ever met, and every one in the universe tends to pale (at least a little) in comparison. Which basically makes the 'open long-distance relationship' thing a waste, but whatever. So the point is, the night I first met this guy, I was pretty drinky. And I was convinced that I had a HUGE crush on him. Like, he's cute, he's sweet, he seems funny, but I was having trouble standing upright and stringing together sentences -- me and Jack Daniels had been goin' at it pretty hard and Jack was totally putting my knees out. Nevertheless... A couple weeks pass, I read his blog, I think of how I need to make him a mixtape because if he doesn't know Wilco he will love them, etc. This is nothing. I have 5 people's names on half-blank iTunes folders, waiting to finish their CDs. And then this past weekend, as I'm (again) getting very drinky at DejaVu, I start babbling to a friend about how I must have this huge crush on him cuz I want to make him a CD. (!!!) "Logic, thou hast left me again, thou foul-hearted strumpet!" I cried (or probably not, since I was drunk), and that was that. I'm a dork. I need to get over my makeshift, intoxicated non-crushes. There must be a better barometer to tell me how think I drunk I am.
If you talk to me this week and I'm not either a) doing my PSYC 356 homework; b) studying for Crim; c) knitting for Xmas; or d) studying for Stats -- please kick my ass. Thank you.
There are Xmas lights twirled around palm trees. Some of the trees are bare but everyone's grass is still green, and the sprinklers still surprise me and the dog on our walks at night. Santa probably strips down to a Speedo for this part of his route, and yet the pictures in everyone's windows still have him all decked out in ermineskin and fur. Crazycrack. We'll be heading down to Christmas Tree Lane sometime this upcoming weekend, I do believe. So we're running at a high in the low 60s (that's about +20 for you celcius kids) while it's way below zero back home. Despite this somewhat-balmy weather, my dog woke me at 3 a.m. this morning to ask if he could snuggle under the covers with me. It's fair, there was frost this morning. We turn off the space heaters* when we go to sleep (concerns about the animals, of course) so he was cold in his little house, despite the fauxfur bed and the flannel blankie. *Doesn't that term make you think of astronauts with big hair dryers, defrosting the moon? Anyhow, he's not allowed on the bed, so he had his little front paws up on the mattress (which is allowed) and his little back paws on the floor, and he nosed his way under the overhang so that the blanket was covering him, and somehow he fell asleep like that. I woke up to find all of him on the bed (of course) but he got off when he realized I'd caught him and resumed the "Assume the Position" position. Suddenly, I'm feeling rushed to get his little black wool sweater** done. Knit knit, purl purl. **I was mortified when I asked for the pattern at the store, ok? But really -- he's part Chihuahua, and he's Californian. It's inevitable.
--mopheaded is a faerie in wolf's clothing
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