Help the kids!

It’s that time of year again where I drive myself completely insane planning a big charity event.

Since this is the last time I’ll be planning this event, I kinda expect all of you to crawl out of the woodwork and attend the bash.  Seriously, it’s the least you could do.

If you live too far away to attend, buy a ticket anyway to donate to the kids.  Seriously. 

This year’s Young Execs for Kids event is benefiting Austin’s Council on At-Risk Youth.  The event is being held at Mayfield Cottage, which is so ridiculously awesome, I can’t even stand it.  It will be a tropical paradise full of mai tais and pina coladas.  It’s going to be a pretty awesome time.

So, to purchase tickets or sponsor or just send money, go to the website:

www.youngexecs.net/forkids

I very sincerely need this event to be successful so I can walk away from my chair position with a sense of accomplishment.  Please help!

The Power of Song

A song made me decide that I’m done being single. 

I kept saying that last week marked a year since I’ve been on my own.  Turns out, that’s next month (July 13, to be exact).  I was a little overzealous about that anniversary, eh? 

When I left my previous situation, I told myself I’d stay single for a year because a year was the arbitrary amount of time I’d allocated to prove to myself all of the things I needed to prove to myself.  That I could support myself financially. . . that I could sleep through the night without a warm body next to me. . . that I could be happy all by myself. . .  I’m proud to tell you that the past year has proven all of the above and so much more.  Most of you already knew I’d be fine.  I wasn’t so sure.  Now I am. 

More than proving anything, though, I needed that time for growth.  Maybe some of you know that I walked out of my marriage and immediately into a new relationship.  Maybe you know that I didn’t take the time I needed to grieve the loss of that relationship, of that family.  Maybe you know that I was keeping myself really, really busy for 4 years so I didn’t have to think about getting over it.  And, in doing all of that, I remained stuck in a sort of numb limbo. 

Leaving that next relationship and subsequently realizing that it truly was serving simply to occupy my head and my heart so that I wouldn’t have room to address the past gave me the opportunity to move on.

The past year has been a year of such remarkable change for me.  What makes me most proud, though, is that I’m not necessarily a different person.  There are just different parts of my personality that are more prominent now, while others are less so.  I’m still headstrong, stubborn, and outspoken.  Maybe even a little more so.  And, if you thought I was independent before, you should see me now.  Yikes.  But, more notably, to me, are the softer things.  I cry more, usually out of happiness.  I take less for granted.  I express more gratitude.  I dance more, sing more, laugh more, and allow myself to care more about more people than I ever have.

I’m less afraid of exposing my vulnerabilities. . . making me a Hell of a lot more available to all of my relationships whether with family, friends, or men.  I’ve shipped all of the baggage I have dutifully carried for 25 years to China, never to be seen again.  I’ve taken the time to be sad about what I’ve lost, and the time to be happy about what I’ve gained.  I can truthfully say that I’m starting completely fresh. . . and that feels fantastic.

With the year coming to a close, I feel a huge sense of accomplishment.  I am proud of myself.  I am empowered like never before.  I am aimed with the knowledge that alone really is better than settling.  That knowledge, independently, makes the whole game change.

With my One Year Single nearing completion, I’ve decided I’m done being so defiantly single.  Being single has been phenomenal, and if I stay single for the rest of my life, I won’t be sad about it.  But, I’m also ok with letting someone in now. . . and this is probably the first time in my life when that’s actually been an honest statement.

The lyrics to “Hey There Delilah” (Plain White T’s) keep playing over and over in my head.  The lines that won’t escape me go like so:

A thousand miles seems pretty far
but they’ve got planes and trains and cars
I’d walk to you if I had no other way

When’s the last time you loved someone that much? 

Nothing clever to say

Hi, Internet.

There are a few things I keep meaning to do.  Most particularly, I keep meaning to share more photos from the dive bar crawl because, it turns out, after I stopped taking pictures, other people kept taking them. . . and it apparently got even more fun than I remember!

Sadly, this whole real job thing is handing my ass to me on a platter.  I’m currently working one full-time job, one part-time job, attempting to participate in the coordination of THREE major events over the next 8 weeks, and get in a 45 minute workout every day.

In case your math is bad, all of the above is virtually impossible when combined altogether.

So.  I’m hoping I’ll get in the swing of things after a “transitionary” period, and everything will be fine. 

Until then, sorry for sucking so much.

Toilet Paper Stories

I’m not entirely sure what it means for the fate of this blog, dear Internet, but I’m starting a real job tomorrow.  I tend to have a hard time censoring myself for the sake of keeping a job.  Soooo, be warned. 

For now, though, please enjoy my small collection of toilet paper stories.

Toilet Paper Story 1
As we’re known to ocassionally do, my fascinating, amazing business partner and I went out so I could watch her drink. 

Please know I wasn’t drinking at all.

After about 4 Dr. Peppers, I made my way to the restroom.  I entered the stall, and went about my usual routine of covering the seat with toilet paper, when the roll of toilet paper somehow got away from me. . . and rolled under the door of the stall. 

Naturally, someone walked into the restroom at that precise moment, and was greeted by my runaway toilet paper.  When I opened the stall door to chase my toilet paper, I could tell by the look on her face that she was already too confused by the toilet paper itself, and she wasn’t going to fare well with me chasing it.    But, what was I going to do?  I needed toilet paper. 

So, chase it, I did.  And, when it stopped at her feet, and I bent down to pick it up, said, “thank you”, and headed back to my stall, it only took about 2 seconds for both of us to crack up. 

The laughter, I was fine with.  When she wanted to talk through the stalls about the incident (“how did your toilet paper escape?!”), that’s where I draw the line.

I hurried out of the restroom as fast as I could.  It figures that she and her friends would be dancing to the karaoke that we had to pass on our way out of the restaraunt.  It also figures that she would say to her friends, “That’s the girl that was chasing the toilet paper!”. 

Toilet Paper Story 2
So, a few weeks ago, I met a good friend out for drinks.  I was wearing a very sparkly shirt for this night on the town, so people didn’t miss me when I walked by.  They definitely saw me.

As is generally the case, I made a trip to the ladies’ room at some point in the night.  No big deal.  Everybody potties.

Proabably 45 minutes to an hour later, after I’d been strutting my stuff around the bar, pointing out my sparkles to anyone who didn’t seem to notice on their own, a very nice man approached me from behind, tapped me on the shoulder, told me to lift my right foot off the ground – at which time, it’s important to note, I was thinking, “God, I can’t wait to hear this pick up line” – and removed a foot long strand of toilet paper from my shoe. 

I don’t even remember what he said after that, but I assure you, it was not a pick up line.

The “Cancer is a Mutha#@&%!” Dive Bar Tour!

I definitely should have posted this information before the event so all of you Internet crazies could have come out with me.

You could tell right away, simply by the name of the event, that it was going to be a bad ass time.  And, it was.  Oh, boy howdy, was it ever.

Combine the awesomeness of the event itself, the very cool people who arranged it, the even cooler people who attended it with the fact that I received and accepted a job offer approximately 2 hours prior to heading out to the event.

I’m telling you, it was nuts.  

I was in very possibly the best mood of my entire life, and I was laughing even more than usual.  Don’t know who this guy was. . . or the guy taking the photo, but apparently, something was funny.

I was basically in love with all of my girls and I’m pretty sure I told them so about 700,000 times.  Don’t worry, I limited that talk to the girls.  Thank God.

I did, however, tell a man who I will not identify in this blog, that I’d totally make out with him if he would stop smoking.  And, I’m pretty sure I saw him smoke after that point, so I’m guessing my offer wasn’t as tempting as I thought it was.

A good night out is never complete without a group singing of some Journey.  When I’m surrounded by people who understand this truth, I truly am at my happiest.

As is bound to happen in any really seedy dive bar, the ladies’ room left a lot to be desired.  It also ran out of paper towel.  When you’ve had a jagerbomb the size of the Atlantic, it seems like a really good idea to use toilet paper to dry your hands. 

It also seems like a good idea to squat down, in a mini-skirt on unstable heels in the nastiest bathroom you’ve ever been in to get a good shot of your friend hoarding the toilet paper to dry her hands.

Later, when you fall on your ass because your unstable heels slipped out from under you, and your ass touches the bathroom floor because your mini-skirt is really mini, you realize that the squatting was really never that good of an idea to begin with.

To solve the problem, you go have another drink because we all know that alcohol kills germs.  Because of all of the germ killing you’re doing, you fail to realize your big toe has been sliced nearly completely off as a result of the falling on your ass.  Then someone points it out, and it’s funny because you can’t feel a thing!  It’s fiiiine!

So you carry on about your business and party the rest of the night, ignoring the toe.   Then, you get home, and you remember the toe because all of the sudden, it hurts like a sonofabitch.  So, you take a photo and you realize that it probably wasn’t as bad as you were making it out to be at the bar when you were showing everyone like it was some big deal.  Then you put a bandaid on it and go to bed.

And, that, dear Internet, is how you support the fight against cancer. 

The end.

Hold your horses

I haven’t been blogging much.  It’s because I’m busy . . . but I’m busy with stuff I either can’t blog about or is so boring you’d die a slow, painful death by boring blog if I did blog about it.

The past week was a roller coaster.  Really shitty stuff happened that made me want to punch people, and then really awesome stuff happened that made me buy rounds of drinks. 

Yeah, you heard me. 

I bought drinks.

I know.  It’s almost like Hell freezing over.

So, at some point, I’m going to need to tell you about all of it, but right now I need to take a shower and do my laundry because I don’t even want to guess how many bugs I picked up at the dive bars we crawled last night. . .

Pretty Boys

I spent Friday at The Belmont with the guy I know who lives there, and while we had a killer good time full of sidesplitting laughs, it wasn’t anywhere as insanely awesome as Saturday night would have been at The Belmont. . . where PRINCE randomly showed up to play!  PRINCE!  I would LOVE to see Prince!!!  *curses*

Though Saturday would have been well spent with Prince, I certainly can’t complain about how I spent mine.  My Saturday was spent at the intersection of 4th & Lavaca, enjoying the Pride Parade with my sweet Santi and his gorgeous man, Josh.

Having never been to a pride parade of any sort, I wasn’t exactly sure what to expect.  But, as with virtually everything I’ve encountered in this super fantastic, magical city, I was not disappointed. 

I really don’t have words to explain to you what I saw. . . so you’ll just have to enjoy the pictures.

The Pride Parade Court

Angels?

Pom Girls?

To sum up, it was awesome.  Just TRY and find a sexier bunch of pom girls.  I dare you! 

Numb

Some things should hit you like a Mack truck.  Some things should make you sad or disappointed or make you regret that you didn’t do something, anything.

But sometimes, those things happen so often that they eventually stop hitting so hard. 

You become numb.

And, I’m not saying that’s a good thing.  But, sometimes someone shoves a knife in your heart just enough times that you start to expect it, and when you expect it, it doesn’t have quite the same effect.

I tend to let people slice me up pretty good before I give up on them.  And, sometimes I give up and then I turn back around and try again.  Sometimes, I do that repeatedly.  Some people call that insanity. 

I have a history of loving people more than they deserve to be loved by me. 

For the longest time, I allowed myself to be disappointed by that reality.  The reality that I would give more, do more, be more to most of the people in my life than they would ever dream of giving, doing, or being to me. 

And, then I realized that it’s not always even.  There are people that I have loved too much for too long.  And, there are people who have loved me too much for too long.  In the end, somehow, I imagine it all evens out.