Monday, August 10, 2009

ThePeach is a stoner; special lady

Why, god? WHY did I ever think I could purchase $70 worth of pot and still have a functional existence? I’ve been stoned for like 2 weeks. What day is it? Where am I? Why are there two empty Swiss Chalet chicken containers on the floor beside my couch?

Please. Check me into pot rehab.

It’s been an interesting week. Wait, is today Monday? I work from home and I’m drunk most days, so every day is the same pretty much.

It’s been an interesting several days, I guess I should say.

The only reason I’m blogging right now is because I have to write two articles today and I need to warm up my brain. It took me two hours just to open Microsoft word. I’m so pooched.

It’s come to my attention that I might be more upset about my breakup than I allow myself to believe. I spend so much time working, and then binge drinking, and ultimately distracting myself that I kind of forget most of the time that the man I loved so much that it hurt broke up with me over the phone. On Canada day. While I was on the other side of the country. And because he called my cell, it charged me long distance. It cost me $12 to get dumped.

Anyway.

For the most part I think I’m doing very well. I live my life, have fun, accomplish stuff, and generally avoid depression and sadness. The only place my breakup has really manifested itself is in my apartment, which looks like a bombed Romanian orphanage. And I guess in my appearance, which looks much the same. Actually, I’ve been told freedom looks good on me, if only I would gain 5 or 10 pounds. Judging by the chicken carcass on my floor, I’d say I’m on my way.

I went to the bar with TheAmazon on Friday. I wore one of my favourite bar shirts. It was a little looser than the last time I wore it, which ultimately resulted in it falling off my body. I got a free drink out of it. Advantages!

Ok, time to focus in a linear fashion, here. This story has a point. Swearsies.

Friday was a rough day. I had been working for like 3 days straight at that point with no breaks. Not even for pot. I had been living off of microwave popcorn and coffee. I had experienced some minor man drama that morning, but I dodged the hurty bits and just focused on work. TheAmazon was flying in for a visit that night and I just needed to finish my research before she got there. And then, at 9pm, FauxHawk called to chat. You know, just a nice little catch up with the man who ripped my heart out. Being friends is yay. The conversation was pretty casual and cheerful, and after we hung up I congratulated myself for being so cool to him on the phone. I got back to work.

The computer screen was a little blurry. Weird. Oh hey, breathing is a little hard. Must be the coffee. And is my heart palpating? That doesn’t feel nice. Stop it, you.

Next thing I know I’m curled up in a little ball in my desk chair and crying like a pitiful tool. This lasted about an hour, despite my best attempts to stop the cry hole. I walked around the apartment. Negative. I washed my face. Negative. Showered. Shaved my legs. Weeped the whole time. Poured a gin. Nothing.

TheAmazon showed up at my door to find me crying, blasting the Amy Winehouse, swigging gin, and prancing around the apartment in leggings and a bra.

TheAmazon: *immediately sits down* Sit in my lap and tell Momma what’s wrong, Boo.
ThePeach: *sobs* Boo is sad, Momma!
TheAmazon: *pats her lap* Momma will help.
ThePeach: *sits on lap, weeps* My life is stupid and overly dramatic and no one loves me.
TheAmazon: I know just what Boo needs. You’re going to put on a shirt. We are going to the bar. We are going to dance with ugly men and let them buy us drinks. I am going to order tequila and lick the salt off your cleavage. You are going to let momma feed you poutine. Then we’ll come back here and cuddle and maybe I’ll fork your skinny ass. Sound good?
ThePeach: *sniffle* Ya, motherfucker.
TheAmazon: *slaps my ass* YOU CALL THAT ENTHUSIASM??!
ThePeach: YA, MOTHERFUCKER!!!

And we did exactly that. I woke up the next morning with a line of salt all the way from my jaw to my inner thigh. I might have accidentally had a lesbian experience, but I can’t be sure.

We drank and smoked that night until 5am. At 9am TheAmazon rolled over in bed and woke me up.

TheAmazon: Bitch, wake up. Get your credit card.
ThePeach: *coughs up half a joint* SHMEH*cough*WHAT? *dry heaves* WHERESH AMI *squints eyes* Momma?
TheAmazon: Boo, I have a plan.

30 minutes later we had purchased flights to Portugal.

OH MY GOD. OH MY GOD. I’M GOING TO PORTUGAL IN 11 DAYS. OH MY GOD.

What…did I do? How…why…oh my god. I’m going to Portugal. With TheAmazon. In 11 days. I put it on my mastercard.

I think it’s safe to say that I need a vacation, but still. Wow. Impulsive. We’re going to backpack from Lisbon to Faro and stop in Lagos to fuck surfers. Or learn to surf. Or both, whatever. We have no accommodations booked. No real idea of what we’re going to do there. But I have a feeling it’s going to be the best experience of my life.

See, I’ve had an epiphany about the kind of person I am. (God, this blog is a whole lot of emo. Aporogies.).

I’m the kind of person who wants the experiences. All of them, good and bad. Often they go hand in hand. When I die (which might soon, at this rate), I’m not going to remember that I had no mastercard debt for one brief month in the summer of ’09. But I guarantee I will remember the wicked backpacking vacation I had in Portugal with my oldest friend, TheAmazon. I’m going to remember that I loved someone deeply, even if they sucked and broke my heart. I’m going to remember that I was totally irresponsible and drank too much and did more stupid things that just wound up hurting me in the long run, but I’m also going to remember how good it all felt at the time.

This is getting deep. It’s the fucking THC.

My dear friend ThePilot – another one of my oldest friends - was in CapitalCity for the weekend, too. We met up on Saturday and he took me to his adorable house in the country for dinner. We chased frogs. Shucked corn. He picked me a flower and put it in my hair. He reminded me that life is good.

We were sitting around his dining room table, eating pie and drinking coffee, when we started talking about how I’d like to move to Vancouver next year. I was still feeling kind of spent from my cry fit the day before, very hungover from the tequila, and pretty much like an unlovable wretch. ThePilot looked at me and said:

“I don’t know many women who would leave everything they know and go live on the other side of the country just for the adventure of it. That’s a compliment, in case you’re wondering.”
Well. Some people find my craziness intriguing.

Maybe there’s hope for me.

ThePeach

4 comments:

alicia said...

I believe that keeping yourself distracted with work, friends, etc., is the only way to not sit at home in a heap on the floor drowning in your own pity party. It's so great that you've been attempting to move on and keeping busy and therefore is completely understandable that you would have a mini meltdown when he calls!
Portugal sounds like a blast and I vote you should move to Vancouver asap :)!!!

AsianCymbals said...

I want to support your move to Vancouver but...we'll miss you! Not that we're in the same city, but it's at least driveable.

Well no matter. You rock, as always and Portugal is going to be so awesome. Hey, can you bring me back some port? ;)

Marlee said...

I'm in the same "break up boat" ... Would I be creepy if I said I'd be your gin drinking friend should you move to Vancouver? hahaha

MortalCombat said...

Someone's been reading Eat Pray Love.

:-D