New Job, More Thinking About Stuff.

A friend and I were talking about five minutes ago. She just made cupcakes for her roommates birthday tomorrow - I think tomorrow? At some point in the future. I mentioned I'd always wanted a surprise party. It's been brought up once or twice among friends back in Florida and while I don't remember all of the reactions, I do recall Ashley looking at me doubtfully and saying, "Well, Erin, you're the party planner of the group."

I hoped anyway. Maybe that was a clever decoy! Or, you know, that was the way I was told it was never going to happen. I think I'm the only one dumb enough to plan a party over a month and a half in advance - Andi's was almost a year in planning. Party in a van, man. Party in a van. It wasn't disappointing, not really. I had been warned, after all. Still, I brought it up each year near to my birthday (and Christmas but, really, my birthday is cooler than Jesus).

Moral of that weirdly emo story: if anyone had been planning on throwing me on for my 24th, they wouldn't have a choice now. I won't be in Florida for my birthday. Andrea is in Wisconsin. Chances are I won't make (good) enough friends by January 2nd to throw me a birthday party. I see a quiet dinner with Dad and sitting up alone on my computer after he goes to bed at 9pm.

JesusAllahBuddhaLakshmi, that's depressing.

I miss Jordan, I really do. Out of all the friends I've made in my life, she was the one I've connected to the quickest. We met through my ex, Birdie, and at a party. Almost instantly we got along and I would have probably flirted if Birdie hadn't gotten rather intoxicated and done stupid things. We started texting the day after the party (after a delicious brunch with another girl from the party) and on finding out she lived so close, we hung out constantly. Most of our nights together ended with meaningful conversations on her countertop, either eating one dollar microwave pizza or five dollar fresh pizza from the Domino's down the street.

Before my move, Jordan was my saving grace. She gave me something of a life outside of my standard circle, encouraged me to keep writing and be more outgoing, be more me. She always had nice things to say, some so nice I don't feel like writing them down here because of how special they are to me.

I miss her. I need a Virginia-Jordan. I need someone who gets me almost instantly, who will listen to my inane theories and methods and counter them with their own. My stupid tiers were thrown asunder the moment I left Florida.

Work starts October 1st. It sounds as if I will be working with a variety of people (in five locations), which will be fun! I'm rather terrified of starting this new job just, out of the blue, with no one there I've ever met but it will be an adventure. Maybe someone will be around my age or know places I could go to actually meet flesh and blood people. There's always the possibility of making friends if only for the fact I will be getting out of the house and meeting people.

This entire post has been nothing but a huge emofest. My apologies, O Readers! I've been preoccupied with grumpy things and being excited over my mother visiting - I'll be able to see her this weekend! She's going to Washington D.C., and we're meeting up at Union Station. Hopefully we'll be able to stay up late to gab or. Something. I don't know. There will be crying?

Who knows. Until next time!

GNARFUNKLE

JOB INTERVIEW.

TOMORROW.

2PM

WORST UPDATE EVER, JUST SAYIN'.

SO BAD IT ISN"T EVEN GETTING TAGS NOPE DERP DERP

So once, I punched a guy.

I'm not exactly sure what made me think of it but, once, at a club I punched this guy in the chest. He deserved it like no ones business and I was slightly (very) inebriated but I still see it as a personal triumph on my end. As early as eight years old, I was a bully - it lasted until I was fourteen(ish) and I can still scare the ever living guts out of people if I feel the need. It's a very handy skill.

At the time, I was still talking to my ex-girlfriend. We'll call her Birdie for the sake of semi-privacy. Birdie was very into the club scene and I was very into Birdie. We'd had a bad breakup due to severe miscommunication and once we started talking again, the idea was never brought to a light again. She didn't like commitment, I think, and we lived a fair distance away. For her, that was a big deal. I'd had long distance relationships apart and didn't consider an hour too far but I digress.

She asked me to go clubbing with her one night. Saturday night so we were able to get some super cheap drinks. We pre-gamed it in the parking lot. I am a light weight. So two chugged hard lemonades, a few rum and cokes later, I actually agreed to dance. Anyone who knows me knows quite well that I will only dance when severely intoxicated or when alone in my house, dressed in a wife-beater and bandanna with the grungy pants. This dancing fell under stinking ass drunk.

As such, and being with a girl who showed many signs of being interested, the dancing was suggestive. We ended up kissing in the corner by the bar which, in itself, was fabulous. A guy had followed us from the dance floor, I think, as I'd seen his shirt briefly when we'd left it. He walked up to us, interrupting a very nice time, and started spouting stupidity.

"Are you two lesbians?" said the drunk frat-looking boy. Birdie and I looked at each other and started laughing. Birdie reply was something to the affirmative (I was watching her mouth and thus not listening very hard). He made some crude innuendos. I took offense because those words I do tend to hear.

I am a very protective person when sober, going as far to threaten someone if they are going too far and crossing lines. Someone gets in a friends face, I get right back into them. My mentality is that of a pack and when I see something as a threat to aforementioned pack, I'm very aggressive.

"Look, dude, she's here with me. Go away." My speech, admittedly, was littered with a few naughty words in there as well. I pulled Birdie closer. The guy was a creep. His friend urged him to just leave us alone and even tried to pull him away. Go friend!

The guy said something else and all of a sudden I felt a hand grab my chest. As Birdies arms were around my waist and she knows my boundaries. I knew full well that even when drunk, she wouldn't do something as violating as to touch me. A man arm was attached to the hand on me.

I spun around. All I remember was my right hand swinging out and clocking the guy square in the chest. He stumbled back, I pushed Birdie away enough to walk those few steps to him and glare. He was a lot taller than my 5'5" frame, hence the punch to the chest rather than the face.

"Don't you EVER touch me EVER again!" My voice, admittedly, was very loud. He stared down at me with the best expression in the world: utter disbelief. All of a sudden, I see a half circle of huge men with the word 'BOUNCER' written on their shirt. Their eyes weren't on me but the guy I continued to yell at. "If you so much as lay a hand on me OR her EVER again, I will kick your ASS."

The bouncers moved closer. Birdie grabbed my hand and tugged, hard. She said we should leave, her hand wrapped around my wrist tightly. I didn't want to end up getting arrested for assault as, let's be honest, I would have won any fight between him and myself, so we left. The last I saw of the guy was the crescent of bouncers narrowing in on him. The photographer asked for our picture before we left.

I hold that memory as a very fond one. Sometimes I miss being a violent little creature but all it takes to bring me down from that particular road of nostalgia is to remember that I had no friends, no real motivation to be a better person. The club let me know that standing up for myself and the people I am with at the moment is not a bad thing and can be done without being physically cruel. I can silence people with a Look as easily as I can a punch to the face and my weapons now are scathing words, a harsh glare, and the ability to out-think my opponent.

Moral of the story, kiddies? Violence isn't always the right path but don't let that knowledge keep you from protecting you and yours.

Also, clubs would rather punish a possible sexual harassment lawsuit than the two lesbians making out in the corner.

Neglect, neglect, neglect.

Poor journal, I've left you high and dry. You'd think since no life or job exists for me, I'd be able to post more. Thing is - with my life the way it is, there's very little for me to post about until after or before the weekends.

Weekends are when my dad is home all day and we actively go out and do things. No matter what I act like, I actually have a lot of fun. Sometimes during the day after we haven't eaten for a while, my blood sugar absolutely plummets and it leaves me either grumpy. If we're driving past a lot of green things, I stare out the window because, hello, Florida doesn't have green like this place has.

Have I posted pictures of this freaking green? ... No?

GREEN!

It's a rare thing, folks. Not so much here but for a Florida girl? Totally.

I was just told that apples are now in season. I think it's time for me to try to go with that interest I've always had with more extensive baking. Poor Daddio may soon be bombarded by a slew of apple-related deliciousness, especially apple pie. No home made crusts, just yet - the last time was an utter disaster and the money needed to purchase those ingredients just aren't in my pocket book.

That leads into Thanksgiving. It's right around the corner! Last year I was unable to make my fragging pumpkin pie I'd been looking forward to. I had forgotten the condensed milk at home with no way to get to the market. Pie crust and home-smashed pumpkin puree gone to waste. If the summers apple pie turns out to be a success, I may attempt to do that this year as well as the pecan pie as my pies are delicious, thanks, and just put together a smaller portion of sweet potato casserole than I usually do.

I think I've lost weight since coming to Virginia. Sounds odd but things are fitting better, shirts drape nicer than before. I haven't been exercising a lot (read: at all) but maybe not living right next to two gas stations and a neighborhood Wal-Mart may have something to do with my milder eating habits. If this is the case, awesome. I don't mind losing weight/inches if it's because I'm not eating like a candy-starved piglet anymore.

I miss karate.

Hells bells, I miss writing and the ability to draw properly. Being stuck inside because I lack any social graces isn't helping. I'm tempted to invade Dad's campus and just wander, go to the bookstore or library, chill in the cafeteria and eat there, try to write. I write well in public.

Okay. Werewolf story will be finished by the 15th, it is decided. So there.

Until next time, readers!