Word

Also, can we talk about this not being the best day so far this year for my mom to put the dog to sleep? Ming has been our family pet for fifteen years, and I’m about loss-ed out. Dog never even pulled a Minnie Driver and drank out of the toilet. ‘Cause he’s too small.

NB: Definition 2.

con·fu·sion   ..  P   Pronunciation Key  (kn-fyzhn)
n.

1. 1. The act of confusing or the state of being confused: Backstage confusion made the rehearsal difficult.
   2. An instance of being confused: “After his awakening to Chicano identity, he briefly mastered his inner confusions and found an articulate voice” (David C. Unger).
2. Psychology. Impaired orientation with respect to time, place, or person; a disturbed mental state.

Solitaire

Until last night, I had forgotten what a lone wolf I really am.

As it turns out, this is the longest time I’ve spent single since 2003, which scares me — have men really sucked that much time from my life? I used to go everywhere alone and I loved it.

I had a terrible day at work yesterday. The kind of day that makes you want to:
1. go postal on everyone in the office, save a select few allies;
2. get in bed and never come out; and 
3. drink, drink, drink.

Being that 1 and 2 are not really options, I went with number three. As it turns out, though, my peeps were all engaged in other activities. I went home, resigned to my fate of watching Gilmore Girls alone and quite possibly eating an entire carton of ice cream while doing it.

And then I remembered who the fuck I am.

So, I got dressed, went over to Dremo’s, ordered myself a pitcher, and sat down in a booth by the windows. I caught up on some reading for the bane-of-my-existence grad course I somehow got roped into taking (I’m not claiming agency on this one). I people-watched. I enjoyed spending time by myself.

It was one of the best nights in recent memory. I love me.

Vegan jello wrestling…

… is the stupidest thing this side of something really stupid.

All I wanted for Valentine’s Day was to sit in a quiet, little subterranean gin joint with my bitter-and-funnier-about-it-than-thou friend Marissa and discuss such things as:

- What the hell is wrong with the Asylum Guinness tap that causes all those little bubbles in the head?

- Why am I entirely incapable of keeping my stupid mouth shut? (See: Alec Baldwin Incident; the Great Talk of 1998; and Every Motherfucking Day of My Life)

- If A=B and B=C, can A in fact not equal C? (Didn’t think so, but you can’t be sure of anything anymore.)

- Am I, in fact, totally emotionally illiterate? (There are signs and I see them, but apparently, I can’t read them.)

- In a fight, could the Chelsea FC take God?

- Is the fact that a guy reminds you of your middle school boyfriend legitimate grounds for starting a relationship? (Follow up question: Does your decision change if he’s a bartender?)

Did we get to talk about those things? Nope. Do you know why? That’s right! Vegan jello wrestling.

You know what we did get to talk about?

- Did you or did you not, kind sir, just spill your drink on my skirt? (Follow up question: Since my skirt is black, does it really count?)

- Is that girl really wearing a thong and why does she hate the world so much?

- Is it valid for a person who has never been to a bar that you frequent to
(a) act like you’re in his way;
(b) complain that you’re sitting on a stool and not moving (the benefits of drinking early and often, friends); or
(c) even dare to exist?

- If one girl takes five minutes in the bathroom and two girls take ten, how long will it take four girls in the bathroom together to get the hell out?

- Should Sisqo even be on the jukebox at the Asylum? (Follow up question: Why don’t the rules of the English language apply to him?)

I may have been able to stand all of this if I hadn’t started the night off at that bastion of piss-poor service, Busboys and Poets, with the worst martini I’ve ever had. It was like drinking diesel fuel, without the added benefit that it might kill you before you’re done, thus relieving you of your obligation to finish it and pay $8.50 for it.

The one shining moment of goodness in the evening (and for those of you who think it was the conversation about socialized sexuality with the bisexual dude from Nebraska, you’re in for a shock) was when Zach (whose name I’ve taken the liberty of spelling with a “ch” even though I don’t know if he’s a “ck” kinda guy), rescued Marissa like a bartender angel, saying to a rather large man, “Uh, yeah, she was sitting there first.”

In the words of my dear mother: Valentine’s Day bites.