BIRTHDAY: 12 O'CLOCK AM

So, I am going to try to keep this short, as I am actually drunk while writing this, (thank you spell check...) but this is how the fist three hours and thirty eight minutes of officially being 21 have gone:

Washington Apple shot.

Moonrise Hotel.

Free Chocolate Martini from the bartender, FUCK YEAH. Here is a picture of me and my special glass. Don't mind the weird camera haze, it is humid as fuck here.

Free shot from random girl at bar, (another Washington Apple, but green this time). Big grin. Here is a pic:

Blue Moon beer, YUM.

Walk back to car at around 3 AM.

Get sung Happy Birthday in Portugese by a guy with a tambourine. When he pulls it out of his backpack, (the tambourine, not the Portuguese), he says, "It's not a gun."

Life=Awesome.

Hashtag:21.

More pictures and posts to come. Especially since I have more things to do in about 15 hours.

And my cat just licked me.

Twitter!

I finally broke down and got myself a Twitter account. So now everyone who wants to know more random things about me, like how yesterday I very seriously proclaimed, "I wish I was a proud black woman," you can just follow me!

Here is hopefully a working link. I am doing this from my phone, so I will fix this later if it doesn't work!

Twitter: @madcowsmoo2

Got a New Manager

So at my new job at the hospital, one of my fellow work people moved into the managing position over all of of us. He is totally cool though, so I doubt I will resent him. He hardly seems power hungry. The good thing is that because he moved into to that position, there is one less person doing my job. And on top of that one of the other people got a part time job doing something else during the day which means even more hours, which of course means more money for me.

I am actually excited.

Mostly because this is how my days are going to go literally ALL summer:

1. Wake up. 
2. Put on swimsuit.
3. Go to pool.
4. Get tan/look at the life guard. (He is relatively good looking.)
5. Leave pool by 3:30PM and get back to house.
6. Shower.
7. Get dressed for work and go to work.
8. Work from 5PM until an unspecified time while making $$$/hour.
9. Go home OR go out with friend drinking.
10. Go to sleep, (or go home after drinking then sleep.)

Best summer ever. Plus I get to work with these really smart people that don't mind at all if I totally geek out, (hello? Game of Thrones anyone?) or if I get into my "I'm a stud phase" and talk nonstop about the baseball/hockey/football game. (Because those are my favorite sports.)

I thought that my little niche of friends at the restaurant was cool. But these guys... They actually don't mind my wacky craziness or the fact that I can prattle on about weird things I saw on Animal Planet or National Geographic, or what I heard on NPR. Normally I try to dumb myself down. Now I get to smart myself up. I am sort of living up to my own potential awesomeness.

Of course, I still love/adore my restaurant friends, but I definitely don't mind this change of pace. And I am probably going to be working there for a couple of years, which is just super awesome.

It's a good summer.

Going Out with My Coworkers

I am like super awkward when it comes to going out with people I work with. Especially when it comes to the fact that I am like five years or more younger than everyone I work with. So this past Friday when I got asked to join a work going away party for my technical manager, I was like, "Oh sure!" But had serious plans to just flake at the last minute.

I usually get like super nervous and anxious when it comes to going out in large groups mostly because I don't like those awkward silences when no one has anything to say. I am like, Oh gosh, say something witty.

"Penis?"

Totally not witty.

So on Friday, when the decision was made to walk down to the bar street and meet everyone, I was out of luck in the flaking department. I ended up at the bar, sitting at the table full of people with nothing interesting to say because I am secretly really incredibly introverted. And say something like, Oh, yeah, I have like this really awesome blog that people actually read and think is slightly amusing just leads to people looking it up. And then going, wow, you are an incredible mess of a human. Why did we hire you? You can't work here anymore, you're fired.

So instead, I try to come up with something interesting about myself rather than my marginally amusing blog.

I am left with school, work, and my pets.

That is where the anxiety sets in.

Omg, I am not that interesting. I am super boring. I have nothing to contribute. I am so uncool. I feel like a weirdo. You feel like a weirdo, you are a weirdo! Stop talking to yourself. That is why you are so weird. Shuddup, shuddup, shuddup.

Hopefully there is some understanding now about my anxiety, nerves, and utter lack of normality.

That ALL being said, I ended up having a good time. Instead of talking to myself, I actually talked with everyone else. And made like good, honest conversations. Rather than conversations like this:

Person: I have a fish tank.

Me: Oh?

Person: Yeah. There is like water in it.

Me: And what kind of fish?

Person: No fish. I just filled it with water.

Me: I see. That's cool.

Person: Yeah. It's like so cool.

Me: Uh huh.

Person: Yeah.

Me: So...

Person: (Earnest looking eyes, mouth slightly open, tapping fingers on table.)

Me: Yup.

Instead, I was talking about stuff, and people were talking back, and people were buying me beer and food, and I was happy.

It was really weird. I almost didn't know what to do with myself. I felt part of the group. I had things to say, but I didn't have to orchestrate anything. I wasn't the planner. I wasn't the star attraction. I was just tagging along for the ride and everyone was really chill.

And I didn't pay for anything. That was really awesome.

Shoes vs. Sex

When I buy shoes, there is instant gratification. I open the box, and there they are, beautiful, perfect shoes, sometimes with little buckles or bling, sometimes in fun colors, with a great heal, or a bow on the toe. They smell clean and fresh, and are almost always wrapped in pretty tissue paper. There is nothing quite like getting something in mail or at the store that can instant light up your day. I slip on my new shoes and prance around looking at my newly decked out feet, and it simply feels awesome.

Sex is not always like getting a new pair of shoes. I will even throw it out there and say that for women, especially women my age that aren't quite sure what they want to go on in the bedroom, there isn't always that instant gratification with sex. Guys don't always know what we want, so while they may be totally satisfied, we ladies might be left feeling underwhelmed.

See, I haven't been seriously seeing anyone since November. I have casually dated some guys, but no one I wanted to jump into bed with right away. So I made the decision to go off birth control. I have been using it for three years, and honestly, the stuff can ring up quite a bill. Certainly not as much as spawning a tiny human, but it is still costly for a poor college student like myself. And again, since I am not even remotely thinking about just suddenly jumping someone's bones, I am not super worried about anything happening.

I would definitely call my doctor up to get an appointment and get a fresh prescription for some good ole BC the second I thought I wanted to have a serious relationship with someone. But again, I have yet to have the fancy strike me, so I think I will wait.

Especially since I realized around February that what I was spending on birth control translates into a new pair of shoes almost every month.

So really it comes down to what do I like more? Shoes, shoe, shoes and more shoes or sex?

It's a hard question. I know that when I get a new pair of shoes, I am instantly satisfied. Opening a new box of shoes has me smiling all day. Showing them off at school, work, or just out in the world and getting compliments on them makes me feel really, really good. Certainly not orgasm good, but a shoe compliment can make me feel happy all day, and maybe into the next.

Plus, there is always the question with sex: will I get what I am after? Guys almost always do. But again, ladies don't. Even with all the direction in the world, sometimes we just don't get there.

So again, there is this debate: do I want to know that I will be instantly elated or chance it. It helps that I really do know exactly what I want from a guy, and I am not afraid to ask for it. I am usually looking at an eight out of ten chance.

But... shoes... Every month!

For my shoe addiction there is the added plus that I am not seeing anyone at the moment. I mean, that really, really helps.

What doesn't help my shoe addiction is that I am feeling rather inclined to get myself a serious relationship. Because... It has been since November. That really is a lot of shoes already. I think I can put those on the way side for a while. Right?

Memorial Day

I know this post is actually late, considering that Memorial day has come and past, but this needs to be written, and so it shall be.

When I was a kid, Memorial Day meant that the water parks were going to be open, Dad would fill up the pool, and BBQ season had officially begun. It was marked with the end of school and the start of summer. It didn't mean honoring falling soldiers or remember what our brave men and women have sacrificed to keep our country safe, both within and out.

This past Memorial Day was very different for me. I have only ever been to a cemetery twice.  Once to go with Sharon to visit her father a year after he died, and when I went two months previously to bury grandpa. I have already remarked once on the stark beauty of a military graveyard. All of the pale tombstones lines up perfectly with one and other in every direction is certainly an ode to how our military is organized. When I went the first time, it was a rainy, blustery day; it certainly seemed fitting. But when we went with my grandma to visit on the two month anniversary of Grandpa's passing, it was a beautiful sunny day.

I was wearing my favorite blue sundress that I tied with a bow in the back and comfortable sandals. I thought that maybe if I dressed in something less somber, I would feel better. It was working for a while, until be pulled in the barracks. There were plenty of things to tug at my heart strings. Buried near my grandpa are 290,000+ veterans that date back to the civil war. And every single grave had an American flag pressed into the soil. Outside the gates, firemen had hoisted a ginormous flag on their ladder that flapped freely in the wind. At the gate stood men and women in uniform, smiling as cars entered and left the cemetery.

We wound around the paths that led to Grandpa's stone, and everywhere I could see where flowers had been left for loved one, and people still stood smiling through their tears down at one rounded white stone or another. Dad found a parking space, explaining that Grandpa was "right over there somewhere."

We got out of the car. I carried nine red roses in one hand, and twirled a ring my grandpa had gotten my grandma years ago, and had since given it to me around my finger of my other hand. We started off towards where we thought he was, presuming his headstone hadn't arrived yet. It took us a good ten or fifteen minutes of reading the temporary markers to realize that maybe we were in the wrong spot. But then Dad saw that instead of having a temporary marker, the headstone had been placed over where Grandpa was buried.

I could feel that tight, dry feeling in my throat. It always happens when I am feeling a lot of emotions and want to cry, but I am not ready to let anything out just yet. The headstone was perfect. It was white with a smear of light grey right through the middle of it, with the words "Loving Husband, Father and Grandpa. We Will Always Love You." It made me so sad and so happy to read that.

Of course I knew who my grandpa was. But knowing that it was there for anyone to read; that he was loved and loving, that there were people that cared about him right now, and missed him; that made me feel elated. Sure, when my dad dies, and I die, the people that love and miss him will be gone, but in a cemetery like this, there are going to forever be people there, either working on the ground or just passing through that will see that and know that someone cared about him.

Because that is what death really has people thinking about: how will anyone know I even existed?

Knowing that my grandpa is in that cemetery though, that has been taken care of since the Civil War gives me hope that there are going to be people that will forever know that he existed, and he was important. In a hundred years there probably won't be anyone to put flowers on his grave, but there is going to be someone placing an American flag in the dirt in front of his name. There will be someone trimming the grass, and realigning his headstone and pulling out the weeds.

In a few hours, Memorial day went from celebrating pool opening and BBQ chicken and school letting out. It became what is was really about: celebrating the lives of those men and women who serve our country, protect it, us, and our freedoms, and remember all those hundreds and thousands that have given their lives in all our pursuits of happiness.

I had never felt so proud of my country than I did in that one moment. I placed my roses down on my grandpa's grave and smiled through the sniffles and watched as all the flags turned right and flapped in the wind. There were hundreds of gravestones the mounted the rolling green hill, and while seeing all those certainly signified death, it also signified lives well remembered, lives that were going to be well cared after, and that was something I could definitely appreciate.