I don't want the world, I want you.

I got ditched. 
I'm doing my damnedest to not get butt hurt over it.

Lesley and I had plans for pho today.  To catch up, discuss apartment issues and actually talk because we haven't really seen each other since she got back from Singapore.
She's too busy moving everything today and organizing shit and doing all that crap that comes with moving.  She requested a postponement until tomorrow.  It's not that I can't do it tomorrow, I could, I just don't want to.  I kind of hold Sundays sacred.  They're my day to do my thing, whether that's lay in bed all day, laundry, stoned blogging... whatever.  So we rescheduled to Wednesday. 

Today would have been best.  It's the day we've had planned for a week.

Get over it, Megan.

Got a text from the Terrorist last night at around 1230a.  He was asking if I wanted to stop by to watch Obama's speech.  Now, if it was anyone other than him, I'd think it was the "Wanna come watch a movie" line and everyone knows that there is no actual movie WATCHING when someone agrees to that.  Well, maybe a the first 5-10 minutes but that's it.  Because this is the Terrorist, I knew he actually meant WATCH the speech.  So, I went over.  Not so much for the speech as to hang out with the T and get some cuddle time in.  The speech was very good.  Gave me goose bumps on many occasions.  Awesome.

God, I'm cranky.
 
Disclaimer:  Bowl smoke-age to commence now.  I need to get out of this cranky ass mood.  Not sure if the reefer will help but it sure as fuck can't hurt.  I really don't know why I'm disclaiming anything... but I figure it's fun.  Hehe.  Yes, I admit it, my name is Megan and I like using useless disclaimers on my blog!  (Hi Megan!)

I'm kind of over the Jamiroquai thing.  Though I might have to rewind it to Love Foolosophy one more time.

I got a text from a friend of mine (Blondie) I used to work with at Capers.  I haven't seen her since I've been back in town though we keep making tentative plans and on or both of us flake out.  Her 27th birthday was on Thursday and she wanted me to stop in and have drinks with her and her 8 gajillion friends.  It was being held at this bar in the Pearl District, which is a pretty area and I tend to enjoy walking around there but I can't handle the posh-ness that all the business's posses.  Which Is why I just walk around and never enter any of them.  I drove by the bar it was at... The District and had to force myself to not turn around and run screaming.  I sucked it up, went in, got an $8 Monopalova and cran and proceeded to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.* 
I've learned over the years that I don't fit in with the "pretty people" of the world.  I tried for a long time and it just made me feel horrible about myself.  I'm not sure why because I really have nothing in-common with the types that frequent these type of places.  I give a shit about things other than how my blond highlights came out on my blond hair or which of the guys I'm seeing has the highest net worth and that's how I'll pick who I'm going to start getting serious with. 
I feel like it should be stated that I love Blondie.  I've had a shit ton of fun with her, she introduced me to pho and day drinking and strippers.  Okay so she didn't really introduce me to strippers but day drinking & strippers were something we always did together.  She is very much a pretty girl.  Not just because she's beautiful but I guess the term "every-girl" should be used here.  The terrorist has been trying to explain to me what exactly an every-girl is and I think I finally grasped the concept.  Thanks to Blondie.  Granted, I think she's an extreme case of the every-girl but she IS an every-girl. 
The awkward standing got moved outside to awkward sitting.  Blondie and I actually got a few seconds to talk in which she told me about how the guy she's seeing organized the shin dig for her along with taking her out to get her Nails & Hair did, taking her shopping and getting her some ridiculously over priced designer dress for the night with matching shoes.  It was a seriously deep discussion. 
She finished her cigarette and went inside with a group of friends that showed up.  I stayed outside, smoking and trying to find a graceful way to get the fuck out of there.  That's when Ireland started talking to me.  Ireland is this middle age-ish red haired, red faced dude.  I actually think he might have been younger than middle age but I'm pretty sure due to years of excessive drinking he's getting older (and redder) than his years.  He was a friend of Blondie's, we chatted for half a minute then his conversation continued with my tits.  Now, I know I have a great rack but how can anyone think that tit talking is acceptable?!?!   There are very very very few acceptations to this rule.  Guys... Tit talking is not cool.  Don't do it!!!  This was the final straw for me.  I decided I wasn't going to worry about being tactful.  I put half of my $8 drink down, went and gave Blondie a hug and told her I was peacin' out. 

I was on my way to the Terrorists and I decided to stop for a fountain coke.  Somehow I locked myself out of my car (probably because I was half stoned and talking to Nathan on the phone).  I hadn't replaced my key under my plate since the last time I got locked out.  So I was more or less fucked.  Luckily I was 2 blocks from the Terrorists house so I walked up there, got a coat hanger, and figured I'd try to jimmy the lock.  I've tried this a few times and have never been able to get it.  This time, was different.  I GOT IT!!   I was very proud of myself.
When I got back to the Terrorist's house he made me put my key back on my plate.  Now I know that if I get locked out again (haha, if, who the fuck am I kidding... WHEN I get locked out again) I will have two methods to get back in my car.  Very exciting.
But not as exciting as stair sex.
Like that little segue? 
Oh yeah, I got boned on the stairs!  I'm pretty sure at least one of his neighbors had to have seen my ass but that's okay.  It was some good sexin'. 
Complete with bite marks on the back of my hand from an attempt to keep myself quite. 
Classy.

Reefer and blogging about snotty bitches really did make me feel better.
Yay.  Fuck, I should go get ready for work. 
I don't want to go to work. 
I need to find another job.

*I would have pasted myself against a wall but there was no wall space anywhere near the party and though I seriously contemplated it I figured standing half way across the room by myself would probably just make me seem even more socially awkward.