Sunday, November 9


What's better than blogging drunk? I can't think of anything. I'm tempted to leave all of my typos un-edited, for your enjoyment, but I think it would be a little disparaging, and I have my reputation as a writer to uphold.
Plus, it would be nearly unintelligible, trust me.
I wanted to log into my work account tonight -- thus leaving further evidence of my somewhat enebriated (sp?) state for all to behold, but it doesn't seem to be letting me. We've been undergoing some major changes on the work end of computing, maybe that's the issue, or, I just can't type. One or the other. Trust me when I say that I don't believe for a minute that it isn't entirely my fault, as my typing skills are severely compromised currently.
Before everyone got to the par-tay this evening we were listening to some fabulous tunes that I have to thank my Plinko for introducing me to. One of my favorite songs ever. EVER. In the whole world. In my whole life.
I'm trying desperately to sober up (stupid wine) before I go to bed tonight, so I don't feel tomorrow like I did today. And no drink to blame for today, just a late, late night. I'm older than I ever was, and now I'm even older.
I feel like everyone has heard my stories a hundred times. Like I'm a grandma and everyone is humoring me because I'm going to die soon. I suppose that not everyone has heard the sunday school story before (about my mom). But I only have so many stories about my stinky dog to share. I'm sorry if I'm a bore.
I wish I had more stories about my mom, or better stories about the kids I grew up with, or something. It really wasn't as boring as I'm sure it must sound. I'm drunk and nostalgic, so you'll have to forgive me. I had wonderful friends. Honestly. People who believed in the power of melodrama. And before that, one geek that I would love to get in touch with now, to thank him for everything he showed me (including pixelated porn, when I was too young to appreciate it). Life is so strange. Putting all those little pieces together to show you what happened to make you who you are today... unless you're someone shallow or stupid, it has to boggle the mind. Playing piano during your mom's funeral, understanding the power of escapism that a laser disc player can provide, wanting, but not really wanting, to know where your missing friend has run off to... life builds into us strengths that we don't know until they're tapped by someone else who needs us. And I feel like I have needed the strengths of all of my friends (with or without their knowledge) along the way. I am so like my dad - terribly emotional and sentimental when filled with the booze! (that isn't an insult!)
Blah blah blah blah blah... I'm sure you're all sick of this by now. If you're reading this, you know I love you, I value you incomparably. The people I know now, the relationships I have, are unlike anything I could have imagined would be possible when running around playing kick-the-can, but believe me when I say I know that those experiences around my block, around the playground, at the pool and growing up where I did how I did prepared me to value the people I know now. I tell my stupid growing up stories again and again because I wish that all of you, you Bad Guys, were there the whole time. I wish you could see it all with my eyes. I wish you knew the aura of mistery and intrigue that surrounded the fancy fancy stuff that grew up and took over the places that used to be my stomping grounds. There was a sadness that nearly everyone I loved had and dealt with... we were the rejects and the strange kids and we needed each other more that people should, and I wish I had had you all there then. Of course, if I had, I'd probably be sewing my seventh Ren Faire costume by now, or being paid to play some video game I haven't heard of, or be some other uber geek in some field that now I only have limited interest in.
Rambling rambling... my point (no there isn't one, if you were checking) is that despite our (sometimes vastly) different backrounds, we Bad Guys are together because we love each other, and I need you all, and booze brings out the sentiments that I truly feel every day. Despite the fact that none of you were the ones that I spent trespasing on American Club grounds with, I want you to share in that with me. I want you all to be right where I was when those formative memories occurred. Just like I want to be busted with Mrs Jones for smoking during crossing guard duty, or in the hallway of WLA when the prick got tossed down the stairs, or in the yard when the forking happened (ok, that's always going to seem weird to me)... It seems like I've known you all for my whole life, so you should know about Vicky's dog Starbutt, or watching Purple Rain a million times in Nikki's basement, or crossing the very dangerous tressel, or vegging out in front of the tv at the Youth Center with Ray. We should all be able to laugh about it together, because you were always there. It's very Scully and Mulder, really. Lives we've lived together a hundred times. Always in roles that place us where we need to be to find each other when we need to. Always together. Always the Bad Guys.


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