Flashpoints and Fundraisers

Time for the Monday round-up.

So we has the fundraiser on Friday. We didn't make as much money as we wanted to (isn't that always the case with the arts?) but overall, the party was a success and we did make some cash, so yeah.

I started drinking at 6pm, and once again, didn't stop until 6am. My liver was crying. I told it to stop being such a pussy.

I did the Britney dance. Twice. But to fair, once was by request, so hey, give the people what they want. They paid 10 bucks for it. I wonder if ever I'm not going to want to dance like a ho when that song comes on. Jason (the director) and his lady interest were sitting behind me. They're both in their thirties. I bet they were sitting there like, "Oh my God, these people are so young. It's like high school." Yup. I'm the girl that gets drunk and dances like a ho. That's me. Like I'm 16. Though, to be fair, apparently I still look 16, so I'm just acting like that.

And Ashlee showed up at around 12:30 and here's where the party gets hopping.

Yea, Ashlee. We decide to force everyone to do a Power Half-Hour at, like, 4:30 in the morning (which is always a good idea). Devon had appeared at some point too, and much frolicking and rolling around on the floor laughing was had.

I met Chloe's brother. Who, by the way, is knock-you-on-your-ass-gorgeous. But he showed up with his posse, and so I felt uncomfortable approaching him. Chloe told me on Sunday that he thought I was cute. OK. I'll settle for that. I'm getting resigned to the fact that I will always be described as cute. If I were a few inches taller and my hair a bit straighter, I think I could get pretty, but this was the lot I was dealt. It could be worse, I could be "nice personality" girl. So if cute it is, cute I am. I told Chloe that she should set us up the next time he's in town and I'll make out with him. Ah, Chloe. I don't think she knows how serious I am on that one.

I love how much my time with Ashlee replenishes me, as much as drinking with her until 6am wipes me out.

But not too much time was spent with her, since on Saturday she wandered out to Brooklyn to hang with her brother. I was supposed to meet up with them, but the L wasn't running and the thought of being trapped somewhere in Brooklyn was most unpalatable to me, so we had our night and she had her other night with her bro. I owe her like 10 trips to D.C. once the show is done.

Saturday, I had the place to myself then. Time to ponder.

I like being alone. I don't know why I let being part of something affect me so much. I've always been alone. The time I spent in Austin in my apartment was actually really great for me. Of course, it's where I developed a lot of weird habits since I had no one else to answer to. I would never sleep for more than three hours at a time. I'd wake up, watch weird late night TV, get drunk or high or usually both, maybe pop a pill, write, dance around my apartment. Basically, answer to no one or nothing in regards to my schedule. Sure, it's weird, but hey, I'm a weird girl. Maybe it's because I have three roommates now. Maybe because I had a boyfriend. But suddenly, my life became about answering to other people and I think that's part of the reason I was in such funky spirits for a good while of this year.

This, of course, is a long-winded way of saying I broke on Lent and masturbated.

Fuck it. I'm not Catholic. God's got so much other dirt on me that this one's just a blip on the radar.

And it was awesome. Like, insanely awesome.

And I think that was the epiphany I was searching for in regards to this little experiment I tried, and hey, I lasted 27 days. Go me. Sheer force of will can take you so far, but a really great orgasm (or 5) can take you farther.

Conor came over since he couldn't make it back out to his place in Brooklyn (damn those subways) and we discussed serial killers at length while drinking bottles of wine. He asked me what I thought it was that was so fascinating about them, why people are so drawn to studying them. I told him that I thought it had something to with ritual (ah, me and ritual--The Quotable Ritual). Ritual, and the practice of it, is something sacred and revered. The serial killer takes something that is should be sacred and uses it in the exact opposite of its intention. And it's a mentality that is foreign and frightening to the rest of us. So we watch it looking to the way where their ideas on ritual got so defiled.

Conor thinks it's because he wants to be one. Awesome. I'm so glad you're sleeping over tonight.

So my bed was occupied all weekend. Ashlee Friday, Conor Saturday. Apparently, if your birthday is January 30, you have free access to my bed. Which, just so you know, adds Justin Timberlake to the list. Very do-able.

I've also decided to back on my meds. If it had been a couple months ago, I would be skeptical because it would seem so reactionary, but this journal is a good way of tracking my emotional state over a longer period of time. And these mood swings are getting intense when I'm at a point in my life where everything is stable. This implies something more than just having "a case of the Mondays." I go from feeling really content and on top of things, to utter self-hatred and a desire to exit the planet. These are thoughts that spurred me on before to seek help, and I can recognize it again.

It's not weak, like I had previously thought. It's a nice mix of genetics and temperament. And I need the meds like sticking your feet in the sand to slow the momentum of the swing. Ain't no shame in that, kids, ain't no shame.

But I'm feeling good today. I feel quiet (though the length of this entry might indicate otherwise). I like the people at my office, and the only obnoxious one is out today, so it's blissfully a non-nasal work environment. Tomorrow's a different story, but for now, all is quiet on the Cubicle Front.

An ending note:
Have you ever drank water while you were peeing? Doesn't it feel like a waste somehow?