Baffled, Perplexed and Peeved.

May I ask you a question? How is it that, in the past two months, I have had two separate experiences with two very different men who have made very surprising passes at me (let's just say they weren't simply being "friendly" and leave it at that), and whom I come to find out, AFTER THE FACT, have girlfriends? Is there a sign taped to my back that says "IF YOU ARE IN A COMMITTED RELATIONSHIP PLEASE PLANT ONE ON ME"? Because if so could someone please alert me to this in the future? Thunks.

When did I become the "Other Woman"? I am no vixen! I'm your pal. You know- that girl who likes the original 3 Star Wars flicks and NHL games and lots and lots of Miller High Life. The Other Woman is always mani/pedicured, uses things like hair spray and cold cream, and cares about shit like The Hills. She thinks most anything fun is "icky" and prances around in kitten heels in a perpetual cloud of some thick, floral perfume. I have my lady-like moments, but being a femme fatale is not something I perceive myself to be...and certainly not a vampy home wrecker.

I don't get it. But I do know this. It makes me really dislike boys and the idea of dating one seriously. I mean, this is how guy friends of MINE are acting to ME! Their so-called "friend"! May sound sexist but, sorry. That's where I'm at.

Let Me Go.

I loved this song so much when I was little. It brings back memories of listening to bad AM radio broadcast out of Tijuana on a tiny pink & purple transistor radio my folks game me for Christmas, rollerskating in the cul-de-sac, playing dress up in the front yard with all my girlfriends, slicking on bubble gum Bonne Bell Lipsmacker, the ever-present California smell of fresh moved green grass enveloping all those lazy days. It's also clearly a song that was obviously responsible for the gestation of what would prove to be my lifelong obsession with all things British. A happy memory all around, really.

The last time I was in love with someone, I remember lying in the dark in his bedroom, listening to his music. This song came on randomly, and I felt such a visceral connection to it and to him. I felt like I was going to cry, but because I was happy. I was so overwhelemed by the purity of the moment- of something so dear from my past merging seamlessly with something so loaded and delicate and lovely that was pregnant with promise. I stared at him in the dark and thought to myself, this is meant to be. This is magic. Being in love is magic.

And then we broke up and I realized it's all a bunch of fucking lies and bullshit and exhausting theatrics and blah, blah, blah. But this song is still savage. Enjoy Let Me Go by Heaven 17.

Almost immediately, I felt sorry.

This teaser trailer about made me keel over in my chair. Mostly because, I am going to see Liz Phair sing Exile In Guysville tomorrow night, and I keep almost crying when I think about it. Which is so lame. But this, this album in particular, is my mecca, you know? I watch this and I see Liz Phair and Urge Overkill and all of a sudden I'm in my dorm room at Long Beach State, in black matte Docs and fishnets and my dad's jeans I made into baggy cut offs, throwing a flannel over my Beastie Boys concert t-shirt and getting ready to go to the Fabulous Foothill Tavern to see Guttermouth and the Lunachicks, cradling a 40 of Mickey's in the crook of one arm and a Rentals CD in the other, and wishing this guy I was in love, love, love with named J.T. Costa would call me but figuring he wouldn't because he was on acid at the Luscious Jackson show in Santa Barbara.

This was back when the Polaroids that make up the creepy, sexy liner of Exile In Guysville still existed...back when cell phones were only for use inside cars, and everyone had land lines and answering machines with special codes you dialed in to check your messages. Fairly pre-internet, unless you were a huge nerd- so, not so much with the email and the IM and the texting. People had pagers. You could still smoke everywhere, all the time. I'm going to stop now. The point of this is to say:

I forgive you, you awesome crazy broad. I forgive you.

Also, I just found out that the Foothill closed and that made me start to cry. I saw so many awesome bands there. I remember going to see that dog. there and being so drunk I don't even know how I got home. Good times.

No, THUNKS.

I don't appreciate being followed around and filmed for the purposes of a god-damned video. My life is PRIVATE thanks very much, down to flaunting my oft mentioned true life dream of having myself animated by Don Bluth (who did the sequence in the film Xanadu that I wish I had not seen because I think that's when, right then and there, that I was ruined for life). How RUDE.

Oh wait...this video isn't starring me? It's just an alarming approximation of my life at the present? Oh. Well.

Awkward.

Enjoy the Scissor Sister's Mary. And try not to make eye contact with me for a day or two. K, thanks.

It has been a shitty week.

In the past week:

I acted like a drunk idiot and did something I regret incredibly. Let me rephrase that, I acted like a drunk 22 year old idiot, and did something I regret incredibly. So much the worse for me.

Some nimrod at my office came to my desk and informed me, since we seem to be having some sort of summer cleaning initiative, that she "loved" my "creativity" but that I was going to have to remove certain things from my desk area. Such as my pristine condition, 1980 bright yellow Animalympics lunchbox. Keep in mind it is strategically placed so I don't have to be on display the entire day to everyone who passes by my desk. Sometimes, we all want a little respite from small talk so we can focus and get things done, am I right? I know I am. When this fellow employee said this to me, I wanted to reply with so many cuss types of things to her condescending peaked little rat face. Instead I stared at her for a long time, then went back to looking at my screen and just sighed loudly, and she scampered off to ruin someone else's day. I know it's just her job, but something about it chapped my hide. It was such a "junior high cheerleader speaking down to an audio visual nerd" moment and I was really not in need of it at that particular time.

Speaking of work, because I know everyone wants to know more about mine, my computer died and all my hard drive stuff seems to be lost. Including my work iTunes. Bleeech. All my Girl Talk mp3s, all gone, poof! Not insurmountable but not ideal.

On a recent Friday night visit to Long Island City, I had a moment of sadness when I realized my nastiness had come back to bite me in the ass, and did so in a public fashion. While I stand by my opinions, I also had the fact that when you say mean things even if they are true and done in an effort to protect people you care for, the results are not always pretty. It's not fun having morals and expecting others to, especially when they then turn around and undermine you. The people I think I care the most about seem, especially in this last year, to disappoint me the most.

To top it all off, I found out an old friend of mine had passed away about a week ago, and I'd been so wrapped up in my own stupid little egocentric baloney I didn't know.

There's more, but it's so stupid I can't even write about it on this, this being potentially the world's most self-absorbed blog. Yeah, it's stuff that's THAT stupid.

Instead of pouting and moping and feeling bad all day again today, I decided to do something about it. My friend Sean had mentioned a website to me called Kiva, where you could make micro loans to individuals in developing nations. I went, picked two people whose loan requests I liked, and with the click of a button, felt instantly better. Like I was doing something of value. Instead of sitting around whinging, wasting time, which some people who I really cared about and admired, don't have the luxury of doing anymore.

You should check out KIVA.org today. With a loan of just $25, you can change lives.

It Takes a Dump.

You and me both, sister.

Thunks as always to PostSecret.

I Miss You. I'm Goin' Back Home The West Coast.

This song just makes me cry. Jason Schwartzman is so fucking awesome. The video is cool because, who doesn't love to watch hot skaters cause European mischief? Not this lady, that's for sure. But for some reason it's kind of sad, too. I can't just slobber at the Gonz as I would normally be wont to do. It's all infused with a gray melancholy. Kind of like this particular July day, when it rained from early morning till night and I sat in my cabin, trying to decide if the last 8 years of my life are just a colossal waste, if all the (few) times I said back to someone "I love you" I was lying after all, if I even really exist or if I'm some sort of gauzy whiny boring shadow that just lurks in the corners of everyone else's peripheral vision.

Maybe I should just ride my bike over to the laundry kiosk and get a can of Dr. Pepper. Oh and also SHUT THE FUCK UP.

Anyway.

Listen to Coconut Records' West Coast.


Thanks to Searsy who turned me onto this album a while back.