Ending it.

So I've been trying to decide how to end the blog. It was only supposed to be over the course of a year, a take-down of my life as I tried to regain some sort of control over my own future. Instead of going to California, I ended up staying in Florida until August and, in August, moved to a state that I only thought about when watching 'Pocahantas' - a cold state, filled with horrible traffic and not a single person I knew.

While here, I grabbed a job, I made friends. Good friends, I think. I realized just how much I still had to learn about myself and that in order to do it, I have to step away from the familiar. For the first time in a long time, I finally began to grow up, whether or not anyone could see it, myself included.

When January rolled around and time to end the blog came, I tried to figure out how to end it all. January 2nd was going to be the last day, my 24th birthday. It happened to be the single most miserable birthday I've ever experienced, and I'm including the ones from 9-19 when I was an undiagnosed bipolar disordered person.

I posted nothing, because I couldn't decide what to say. This blog was never popular, only one or two people reading when I made a new post, and that never bothered me. The purpose of this, other than documenting it for myself, was to keep my family in touch with what I was doing in this new place, and how I was doing - Mom, especially, and Ashley.

Mid-January rolled around, and along came the birthday of my best friends late-father, Mr. Larry. He once told me that life itself is an adventure, and that while he loved me, I was doing no one any favors by holing myself up from the world. He said, I was the best friend his daughter had (because boys who were friends would later leave for other girls), I needed to encourage her to grow up along with me, and she would do the same.

He passed away when I was in the depths of my depression, on the verge of suicide. I didn't make it to his funeral, so consumed by my own grief of his passing, and my inability to cope with anything beyond lying in bed, staring at the ceiling. I've never forgiven myself for that.

I like to think Mr. Larry has. Forgiven me, that is. I hope my friend has; we rarely talk about him.

On his birthday, I realized I wasn't ready to put away this blog; it contained a turbulent year of my life, something outside of the depression and the small bubble I kept myself in. Things happened, things changed, I got caught up on bills, of all things. I may be moving out, depending on work circumstances - I may be moving back to Florida, or Wisconsin, or to anywhere I damn well feel like going.

This year is a changing year for reasons outside of last year. My 23rd year on this Earth was taken up by discovery of, damn, I can do things. My 24th started off horribly, and I'm hoping will be filled with discoveries of myself, not just being able to complete things in my life.

So, O Reader(s), there will be another year of this blog. I'm hoping to update more frequently, with more things now going on in my life. Fingers crossed that this year will improve the same way that last year did (Car accident = no Cali = Virginia, Horrible birthday = GOOD YEAR, darnit).

Until next time, with new updates, with new awesome.

Yours.

Oh, holy crap

I missed the one year mark? Holy shizznit on a pogo stick! I thought today was the one year mark but... Well, my memory was never anything awesome to begin with.

So, blog, it's been a year. I started out on December 10th making the decision I would move to California and in with a friend. Since then, I've been in a car accident, was unable to move, was dumped by friend, saw Beth, cleaned my room, was laid off from both jobs, became depressed and poor with unemployment, moved to Northern Virginia, got a job I like, met people I like, and ended up crushing hard on a girl I like.

I didn't end up in northern Cali - I ended up in NoVa. Everyone I knew except for my dad are miles and miles away, I have a job at a place I never even thought I would. It's been crazy. I'm not even sure what to do with myself at this point or what to think.

It almost feels normal. The place we're living in doesn't feel like home but each day I drive to work, confident in my ability to drive to work without a GPS. Someone says, 'it's right off Machen' and I know what they mean. I have a social life, one outside of the internet and with people I met all on my own.

Bills still aren't getting paid on time but I'll get there. The important ones - car insurance, car payment - those are. My student loans are (I think).

I'll be posting every day until January 1st, O Blog. It's time to start kicking this up and finish with a bang.

Aka, I'll start writing actually funny stuff as opposed to things about my day-to-day life. Who knows. Maybe it'll be something worth reading.

Two Reasons

When moving, everyone faces some doubts, right? Is this worth it, what's going to happen, oh, fucking christ, what if I blow it? Things like that. Cold feet, they would call it in the world of marriage. While I often face those doubts, when my mind is made up, I go for it, and usually no one can keep me from going through with it. I'm told it's a very Capricorn trait (along with being a bitch, a prude, money-loving, and domineering).

I almost stayed in Florida for the dojo and had Jordan asked me to stay, I would have never left. The fact makes me sad now because then I would have never met the people I did in Virginia and they're fabulous people but when I went to visit the Dojo Wednesday, Shihan gave me a loaner gi and asked me to go to classes while in town.

Today was the first class available (Thursday night was dinner with mother and sister), a 9am thing with Shihan. I woke up at 7.50 by my own accord (which is odd - my alarm never even went off) and went in a gi that didn't feel like mine and having forgotten half the moves.

Gods, I forgot how much I love that dojo. The minute I walked in, people recognized me. I had been friends with some of the kids and so immediately, a purple belt accosted me. We don't know each others names in the dojo, for he most part, but we knew each other. He was excited to see me and vice versa. Then came the brother and sister duo I am totally apeshit over. They flipped out as well, I went spazztic and basically told them they would see me once a year so they better learn to kick some ass. Cool kids.

Class hurt. I almost passed out near to the end, not to mention the anger felt at realizing I had forgotten my kata. I can handle forgetting moves but my kata?! I'd been so proud to learn red belt kata and I forgot it. Jesus. Ugh.

Either way, earlier, before I moved, I almost stayed to keep going to that dojo. I hated almost everything about my life in SW Florida, had no job until September, late September, no money, no social life outside of two friends, but I had my dojo. Shihan, Sensei, and my sempai's - they were all the best part of my week. I could groan and gripe about going and sweating and becoming disgusting before getting there but the moment I stepped into the springboard dojo ground, all grumpy disappeared. I love it, I love the punching, the kicking, how my muscles scream during, the concentration, the structure, how the teachers just want you to do the best you are able to and not focus on just being the best.

It's hard to find a good dojo and I left them. I almost stayed for them. My goodbye and last class were rough.

Had Jordan asked me to stay, my visit to Virginia would have been just that - a visit. Instead, we drank on my last night, she told me to go, hugged me, told me to go again, to find someone to love, find a job I loved, to be awesome. To not stop writing. She told me that she would try to come over the next morning and bid me a further ado (or text me if she couldn't) but she didn't. I always figured she forgot, which is fine. We'd been drinking, after all.

I'd been reminded of this in coming here. What fail. Jordan and I haven't talked much - just for an hour or so before I had to run to Harry Potter. I think I'm seeing her tomorrow? And Meggie. haven't been able to get a hold of the Megs.

Florida, all in all, has been fun. Packing is to be had on Monday but - whatever. That's Monday. Today is sushi with Ashley, grabbing some boxes, some serious Avatar watching, and then her sisters play afterwards. Today will be a good day even if I have to shove good cheer down someones throat.

Maybe pictures when I get back to Virginia, maybe not. Hopefully another post before I scramble back to the place of Cold As Hell.

Dear lord, this has been way too long

I've actually written this out about ten times before I actually type it out. Sad thing is that I haven't actually written this out by hand - the rest of them are all going to waste. What happened, may you ask?

Unemployment sucks for things to discuss. I did not want to delve into awesome things of the past anymore, nor did I want to talk about what a miserable time I was having at not having a job. But! The very last day of September, I started my current job and things sort of... exploded.

Going from waking up at one in the afternoon and doing absolutely nothing all day to getting up at six am and working forty hours a week is - well, let's just call it 'jarring', to say the very least. Mind you, I rather enjoy my job despite all the pitying looks people give me when I say that.

Yes. I enjoy my job. For the most part, the customers are awesome, the pay doesn't suck, I will get benefits (even if they will take a while), and it's possible that I will get a place to stay if I get promoted. It's no ideal, it is not what I want out of life, and if I stay there for a few years, so what? I'll get my education and I am still planning to go back to Florida to get the certification for editing and publishing. The worst part of the job are those looks, the ones that ask, well, why do you enjoy this? You poor girl, you like this so much. All of those things.

Granted, the job includes old men and delivery guys asking me out on dates or to parties but hey, whatever.

On that note: I am not 'out' at work. That's all I have to say on the subject.

With the social life front, things are fantastic. Not everyone is as thrilled as I am at the turn of events but, hot darn, I have me some friends. I met them through National Novel Writing Month so there's always the chance I may not see them frequently, if at all, after the month is over but I would like to toss my eggs into a basket for a bit. It sounds like a good basket to throw them in.

I'm not really sure if I should use names or pretend names or whatever in this journal. I don't think any of them know about the blog and if they'd appreciate being named in it. It isn't as if I'm about to start flinging mud at anyone but, to be on the safe side, I'm just going to refer to them by things that remind me of them.

There's Synopse, a totally wickedly awesome girl who knits and crochets and doesn't mind me having no clue what it is despite multiple explanations. We get along quite well and tomorrow she is going to (supposed to be) chill out with me for a few hours tomorrow night after the write in. She's quite the awesome cat. There is Herd of Boys, only one of which I can see myself hanging out with on a semi-regular basis. They tend to get very intense while in discussions, to a level I don't even see at most anime conventions. That said, if someone punched me in the throat, they may get a bit upset. There is ML, who is just badass all around and I was going to call 'Handwarmers' but realized I may confuse her with Synopse. ML is perhaps one of the coolest moms I've ever met in my age group, she's funny, super nice, and it takes a LOT to shock her. I dig it. There is Pixie and Pixie 2, two girls who have known each other for years and it shows. They're funny, very cuddly girls. And they drink! I miss drinking. There is Netbook, Science, and Handwrite as well, but I don't see them as often.

I went out to this big town center place on Thursday with Synopse. We wandered around the ice rink, grabbed some food and then chilled out in this French bakery ... place. It had yummy pastries and while we meant to write, we ended up gabbing the entire time. It was fun to just sit around and talk and have fun, get used to the cold and bounce around with it.

Saturday night was the Night of Writing Dangerously - we hit up George Mason U to write for a few hours. Homemade truffles were dispersed, words were written. Synopse and I got into a foot war that ended in a deadlock and at the end of the night, I was running around in jeans, a tank top, arm warmers, and a hat. It was truly awesome.

Tomorrow night is my last write-in here in Virginia and then I fly into Florida on Wednesday to hang out with people, pack up my stuff, and get back up here. My early December paycheck will suck so hard it's ridiculous but I've MISSED those guys. And my pets. And the people there.

I'm horribly excited. The only downside is that it means no more write-ins with the new people. But! I have either their cell numbers or IMs or both so it means our happy butts can keep in touch. Someone suggested during the NWD that we have semi-regular meetups and see what goes down, see if we can keep writing, etc, etc.

Long story/post short? Life is getting better. I'm meeting people, working, paying bills. It means not as much time online as I used to be but - really, that's not a bad thing. People on and offline have been telling me to get a life for years now. I just finally have the opportunity.

I WILL be posting soon, hopefully while in Florida.

Until next time!

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.