I never wanted to use this blog as an outlet to self-actualize- that’s what I have bestfriends for. Unfortunately my BFF’s (no, I’m not a fourteen year old girl) are, a) in a rediculously far away time zone and thusly asleep. B) out on the town with a family friend visiting from a different state and it would be rude of me to interrupt. And c) celebrating the night-before-closing-night of Shakespeare in the park. Therefore, my two loyal readers of Silly Speaks, you get the inside scoop on the first (and only; fingers crossed!) installment of Silly Squawks!
Picture it: Saturday night, you’ve decided to stay in and take advantage of quite alone time (i.e. you have no friends in this strange new town). You’ve already made dinner, enjoyed NPR’s Blue’s hour and are now cuddling up for a few hours of good old fashion net surfing. Gmail, myspace, craigslist, credit union site- no new mail, no new comments, no new job listings, no new deposits from fairy godmother. So, you paddle over to the fun stuff and find yourself happily floating in the comedycentral.com sea. After having your funny bone sufficiently tickled by Jon and Steven you surf on until the sleepies drag you away.
Yup, that sounds a lot like my night. Except, at midnight when the little angel on my left shoulder said, “Now go and get a good nights rest”, I ignored her and instead listened to the develish right shoulder that said, “Take one more look at your myspace, just in case”. So, I did. There still wasn’t anything new, but I decided to look in on a few old friends and musicians who had posted bulletins. Forty-five minutes later I was bushed and just as I was about to hit the big red X in my top right corner the right-side devil *poofed* back in and whispered, “I wonder what Mr. Big is up to?”
(Mr. Big is, yes, a Sex in the City refrence, but it also happens to be the code name I use to protect the identity of my own ex-boyfriend).
I’m glad I’m not a cat, because curiosity just kicked my behind. I’ve known for some time that Mr. Big was seeing someone new and I’ve been dealing pretty well. I didn’t even freak out too much when he put up a myspace pic of the two of them (which he never did with us), did I Seababble?! But for some reason, alone in my apartment, at one a.m., without a friend to talk to, I got the wort case of love-lost syndrome. (Oh yeah, it must have been because I was alone in my apartment, at one a.m., without a friend to talk to!) I was never even in love with the guy! I just miss him and his sly, know-it-all grin! Oh well. This doesn’t take away from my strong, independent, woman of the world mystique does it?
Silena, I want you to know that it doesn’t ever matter what time it is, or where I am, or who I’m with. It’s never too late, too far, or too busy to take time out for my Silly Lena. You are always, always, ALWAYS, willing to listen to me “be a girl” and I can only hope that in one way or another, I’ll pay you back for all that… someday.
For the first time since… a long time… I slept in til 10:15 and have to be out of the house by 10:50, so this comment will be further developed once I get home. BUT!! Just think… 11 years!!
(And no! You didn’t even freak out!
)
Chin up, Silly.
I am so happy to hear that my sleeping habits are rubbing off on you!
Thanks for reminding me that I’m just “being a girl”. Yay! 11 years
You’re not “just being a girl,” you’re just being human. None of us are perfect. Far from it. And I think part of being human is forgetting that you’re human.
Please first and foremost accept my apology for not replying about this one thing earlier, but I knew I wanted to comment on it and somehow it just popped into my head.
I know the feeling of not wanting to use the blog to “self-actualize,” as you so perfectly said it. I’ve often had one of those days (having one right now!) and have had to battle the inner desiers to just scream everything that’s bothering me from the rooftops, or in this case, a blog. I’m not sure what always talks me out of it, but I always do (Maybe it’s because I get to my phone and call you before I hit the post button!). In fact, I’m talking myself out of it right now. Which means I need to call you. Right now. We’ll find a solution to this problem, Dearest.
There are a disgusting amount of typos in that comment. I am gross.