You could call the past week a series of somewhat epic events in my life. I have a new affinity for the word “epic”, but it’s sort of like how a lot of words are no longer used correctly in the English language. Other words include drama, bro, and bitches. These words can now be used with the definitions of things of minor annoyance; a verb describing a group of males spending time together; and a term of endearment amongst female friends, respectively. I still can’t call my female friends my bitches without laughing. However, I am excellent at overusing epic to describe events that are far less than comparative to The Odyssey and nowhere near worthy of a poem that is about 1,000 pages long.
Getting back to the past week’s epic events, there were a number of first-time events for me on the left coast. I had my first break-up, which was quite devastating. Though it began somewhat mature, it ended in me verbally castrating my ex at least 20 times, yelling things like, “Be a man and come get your shit,” and,”Strap on a pair and come have a conversation instead of being a pussy over the phone.” I am not proud of myself, but my break-ups tend to run the same way: I begin stating what is wrong in a calm and collected manner, they stay level-headed through out the conversation, then I lose it like Carrie on prom night. This particular break-up, like many in the past, was my idea. I’m not going to stay in a relationship when I feel he’s just not that into me. I read the book and I’ve watched a lot of chick flicks. I consider myself some sort of guru on determining if a man likes me enough to warrant continuing the relationship. My love of spending time with him and his love of spending time without me was really getting in the way of us growing as a couple. Honestly, I really cared for this man. I met him on an epic vacation in Cabo. The steamy love affair on foreign soil paired with my incredibly poor impulse control led me to move to San Diego. I wouldn’t say I moved here for him, because if he lived in Kentucky I wouldn’t be there right now. Nevertheless, he played a big role in my relocation and helped me out a lot when I got here. Deep down I still want it to work, but it would take a move of epic and godly proportions on his part for me to be willing to give the relationship another shot. I'm sure it was all for the best, since everything happens for a reason. Watch out San Diego, these hair extensions are single.
Since my first west coast break-up was a week before Thanksgiving, I had my first west coast Thanksgiving without family or a significant other. My roommate has a long running tradition of having a potluck Friend-Family Thanksgiving dinner the weekend before actual Thanksgiving. We invited our friends and celebrate before everyone goes home to wherever to celebrate with family. In the end, I only had two friends attend because my ex got all of the friends in our divorce. He definitely got the better end of the deal because all I got was his sander and saw horses, which I have absolutely no use for. Then again, it’s only fair that he gets to keep his own friends since he’s known some of them for almost 20 years and I just met them four months ago.
At first I thought only my roommate’s friends would be at the party, but after much incessant begging my two friends, Jessi and Ted, came over too. Ted didn’t take as much convincing, but Jessi had suffered a recent break-up herself and wasn’t totally into the idea unless drowned in Vicodin. Thanksgiving without my family meant I actually had to cook. It is understood in my family that I don’t do anything I don’t want to do; I’m just a brat. I pretend to not know how to do things to get out of it. I discovered a vital trick that if you mess something up once in the kitchen or with driving directions people will never ask you to try it again. It doesn't work as well with cleaning and taking out the trash though. While my siblings get assigned to different dishes they consider their specialties, I get assigned to my specialty of refreshing drinks and opening bottles of wine. I managed to suck it up and impress everyone with my turkey balls. Iknow, everything ends up being phallic in my life. Overall, our Friend-Family Thanksgiving was a success. Regardless, the idea of spending real Thanksgiving alone made me picture myself in a catatonic state on the couch watching Law and Order reruns while drinking wine and eating cookie dough from the package, interrupted by occasional outbursts of tears and senseless orations to my dog about how none of my relationships work and giving an occasional thanks for alcohol and anti-depressants.
Since my one option seemed less than appealing, I decided it was best to invite myself somewhere. Luckily my roommate has very nice friends who bring you in with open arms and I am missing a filter and assume everyone wants to hang out with me, so this wasn’t very hard. Her friend with two first names (I know it’s totally weird) generously consented to bring me along for his Thanksgiving with several members of the Border Patrol, for whom he works. My job was to make yams, which I don’t eat and had no intentions of tasting for the first time. Contrary to what most people in my life believe, I can cook. The food I prepared was accepted as edible.
The benefits of Thanksgiving with a group of strangers are boundless. Even if my friend with two first names was embarrassed by me he could easily pull the pity card and his nice friends would be ok with it; act like I was some lost puppy that followed him home. Dinner was at a nice couples’ house that had a two-year-old daughter, so luckily I would have someone I could relate to and talk with if all else failed. Unfortunately, when I tried to join her at her plastic child table I discovered much to my dismay that my ass would more than likely break the chair if I put my full weight on it. I threw that game plan out the window and studied the room for other options. Luckily, I spotted a dog. Now, we’re talking. I quickly came to find that Coco worked for the government’s Border Patrol. Well, isn’t that just fantastic? The dog has a job and I don’t. I immediately despised Coco and dropped the idea of hanging out with anything on all fours.
Realizing I was going to need to try and befriend some adults, I began listening to the men in the room talk about work stories. They kept referencing chasing aliens in dark canyons and over mountains. One guy mentioned Batman and I knew this was my kind of job. My heart sank as they explained that aliens were the illegal kind that tried to get over the border without a green card and Batman was code for something else, not the Dark Knight himself and certainly without a Batmobile. I disregarded their explanations completely and continued to picture them wearing suits like Will Smith in Men in Black running towards Martians with light sabers, calling Batman and Spiderman for back up. Their stories eventually changed to some of the urban legends of the area, like the woman without a face who cries, “Ayuda me” to other Martians in the forest. I felt like I was on an episode of Are You Afraid of the Dark, except everyone had already been through puberty. One guy from Puerto Rico via Minnesota, told me about the chocarrero, which looks something like a gremlin and sucks goats and small children dry of their blood Much like vampires, but with an extra fang. I thought this was a good time to start referencing the Twilight series and initiate a debate of if Edward or Jacob was better for Bella. Apparently there is no best time to discuss emo teen vampire movies with a group of adult men who don’t have pre-teen daughters. My mistake.
Overall dinner was great and Thanksgiving was as much of a success as it could have been considering the situation. People in San Diego are much friendlier than people back east. I am still suspicious of this phenomenon, but I am growing more accustomed to it. On the other hand, I have completely grown accustomed to the constant sunshine here. Today I experienced my first San Diego rain. I would hardly even call it rain since I doubt the total accumulation could have been more than a half inch. Regardless, it was epic. Apparently this is considered a rain storm by SoCal standards. I scarcely even got outside to touch the rain and make sure it wasn’t a figment of my imagination before the precipitation completely stopped. I drove to the beach with a book and the intentions of perching up overlooking the cove, reading with coffee in hand. The rain stopped by the time I got there, but the scene was something I imagined while reading And Then There Were None. I decided I should head back before anyone should poisin me or push me over the edge of the cliff. I’m currently trying to convince myself that the rain was representative of epic new beginnings, washing away my recent heartbreak. It’s going to take about a year’s worth of San Diego rain storms to produce enough water wash much of anything though. I guess I’ll stick to drinking wine and watching Twilight, making anguished statements while shaking my fist at the TV that Edward would never have done this to Bella. Jacob wouldn’t have either and he’s B Team.
Wow!
1 week ago
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