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Nuevo Ano

2009-01-09 8:01 p.m.

Hello world. Happy New Year all you fucks.

I type this entry in the pinnacle of ghetto comfort. That is, from a used, cat hair covered, free chair that does not match my walls, nor my hideous couch. Also, my laptop sits on a hand-me-down laptop tilty table that my brother refused to use when his leg was broken. To finish off the scene, there's camouflage cans of Miller High Life not quite strewn around me as well as my highly fashionable black and red bowl, which is coated in the first meal I have cooked in about two months. It wasn't a half bad meal, if I do say so myself.

So what have I been up to. Some of it's the typical insane family shit. The whole Christmas-as-a-metaphor-for-how-shitty-my-life-is thing. Or Christmas equals everything in the previous year coming to a head in front of your whole extended family. Example: Dad leaves to go pick up new girlfriend. Everyone breathes a bit, preparing for arrival. Phone rings. I answer. Immediately recognize family friend that has been "missing" for five years. Therefore, friend does not know that Mom has been dead for three years. In fact, friend thinks, that I am Mom. I inform him of sad news. Friend thinks I'm talking about my grandmother. I break it to him. Turn friend over to Mom's sister. I break down. Yikes. I, soon after, begin drinking what Leah has named the Buzz Aldrin (pink Alize and Faygo Moon Mist) and allow the rest of the day to pass in red eyed numbness.

The other day, someone I went to college with came into the library where I work. I ignored the fact that I knew exactly who he was, because I always recognize everyone and no one ever recognizes me. Then he came in again, and this time, though I was wearing no make-up, a hideous green hoodie, and a stressed out scowl, he recognized me. "Hey, you didn't happen to go to Wayne State did you?" I say, "Anca Vlasopolos, Brit Lit after 1700." "That's not your name." "No. She taught the class" "Yeah, I know, she gave me a fantastic letter of recommendation." "Oh me too. But look where it got me."

Then he says, "So, as I remember, you were sorta brilliant. What are you up to? Writing a novel?"

Let's pause a moment here and contemplate the phrase "you were sorta brilliant"...Hmmmm. It goes down kinda nice, doesn't it? I mean, even if I never was brilliant, or I still am, it's nice to know that someone, somewhere thought/thinks you are brilliant. A certain male friend of mine with adorable floppy hair and a ridiculous mustache tells me that no man calls a woman brilliant, unless he wants to go out with her.

Actually, the guy who called me brilliant asked me out way back in the day during my English degree while I was still going out with you know who. The guy has audio books out, so he'll, you know, be back. It's sorta the nature of my business. Do I flip him my card, with my cell on the back? Do I stalk him on Facebook? Ask him out at work? Continue to pine over aforementioned floppy haired man? Mmmmm it's all very complicated.

I also got an amazing ten point two megapixel digital camera which I used the shit out of at Mittenfest. I even gave in and overcame my extreme hatred of Flickr. This Link May Not Work

I'm going to kill my brother. Must Love Dogs kinda makes a single woman feel like a total moron for ever considering online dating. Speaking of which, did I tell you (the collective you) that in my first foray in many years on OK Cupid I actually had a dude ask me if I would give him a hand job on the first date? No? That wasn't part of our catching up for Christmas talk? Heh. My life is ridiculous.

Keep an eye out for my press release re: The Library's Local music collection. It's full of quotes...from me.

K.

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