Tuesday, October 05, 2010

I'm not dead - really

It’s been more than five months since I last blogged. Blogging is kind of like exercise…easy to stop, and once you do stop, starting up again seems impossible, like too much work, and you’d rather use your free time to lie on the couch with a sandwich.

Oh hey, I also stopped exercising.

The thing is, my job at TheBigNewspaper has taken over my life completely. I eat, breathe and sweat TheBigNewspaper. I don’t really do anything else anymore – when would I? And I don’t want to blog about work, lest they find out about it and fire my young ass.

But today, on my 28th birthday, I decided to fuck it. Plus last night was too completely ridiculous not to write about it.

So, welcome back. My three remaining loyal readers must be very excited.

So, my summer. As you know, I’ve been in TheBigCity since May 1. BadInfluence came with me, until he had to fly to B.C. for four months for his own internship. Long distance was about as awful as you might expect. I visited him once for four days, and we mostly had sex in his sublet. I hear Victoria is beautiful, though.

Life with Cig, my 20-year-old pot-head roomie, went on as expected. She’d hit the bong at 4am, pump Elvis tunes, and paint pictures of moustaches. Like, I’d wake up in the morning and find giant moustache paintings drying on the dining room table. She also enjoyed not wearing pants, inviting her friends over for parties, and getting tattoos.

As for my internship, they definitely put me through the gauntlet. I got to do some reporting, which was awesome and fulfilling, but mostly I was a web editor. And then, halleluiah, they decided to hire me…as a web editor.

I got the news editor drunk last night and asked him if I’d ever be a reporter. He said no. He also told me I’m not a good writer. This was at my birthday party.

So, life dreams shot to shit, but at least I have a job?

In surprising life news, BadInfluence and I moved in together in September and I’ve become a total fucking yuppie. Like, we look at pillow covers in The Bay and buy Spanish classical guitar cds to play in the apartment while we drink wine and plan our thanksgiving dinner menu. Ya, I’m gross. And it. Is. Fucking. Awesome. Seriously, I like having the same man in my bed every night. And after he gives me a good tumble at night, he makes me pancakes in the morning. Heaven.

I never thought I’d enjoy being a yuppie. Turns out I just couldn’t picture it with FauxHawk, who would rather live out his years sitting cross legged in a tree fort, pretending to be 19. Does that even make sense? I don’t know, I’m pretty fucking hungover right now.

Who knew? I’m a secret domestic. And having BadInfluence around has increased my humanity levels by at least 70 per cent. Example, he packs me a lunch for work. Usually I just eat a bag of chips and down two redbulls, like a proper journalist. I have this ringing in my ears lately and I think the redbull has probably snapped some wiring in my brain. The guy I buy it from at the gas station across the street knows me by name. When I don’t show up for a few days he asks where I’ve been. Oh my god, I have a dealer.

Anyway, things in our yuppie heaven were lovely, and then journalism reared its ugly head and offered BadInfluence a job…back in CapitalCity. It’s just a month contract for now, so I told him I thought he should take it. It’s a great job for him, and it’s not like there’s a ton of them here. Only job I can get is running the interwebs, for fuck’s sake. So, he’s gone for at least a month and I am back to living like a hobo child. It’s been two days and the apartment already smells like rotten garbage and there’s a pile of cat-vom on the floor with my foot-print hardened into it.

I suppose I should get around to telling you about last night.

I went out with Spaz (she works here, too) for dinner, to start. We went to this Asian-fusion place, had a few drinks, and after catching up about our lives, got into the always cheerful discussion of our old, dying grandfathers and how much we miss our families. We both had tears in our eyes as she was telling me about how her grandfather was sad that she wouldn’t be there to decorate his Christmas tree this year…when our tiny Asian man-server walked toward us with the world’s smallest, saddest birthday cake.

Then he started singing – it was more like a whisper, really – in a slightly off-key, haunting voice.

Haaaaappy biiiiirffffdayyyyy to youuuuu….

Spaz and I were stunned. This was beyond words. This was a tiny, sad Asian man, holding a tiny, sad cake, singing the world’s saddest rendition of happy birthday. Spaz had no choice but to join in, her soft little voice clashing with his. She stared at me with horror throughout the whole song, just her and the tiny Asian man singing.

After he left and I blew out my little candle, we fell onto each other laughing for the next 10 minutes. Now we were crying for real. Holy shit, these things only happen to me, don’t they?

Free cake though. Yay.

After this we met up with some of our other friends and went to a bar where some of my friends/colleagues from TheBigNewspaper hang out on Mondays. When they found out it was my birthday, the tequila came out. This was the beginning of the end.

Four shots of tequila, 3 gins and two ciders later, I was telling the news editor that he should send a reporter I don’t like to Afghanistan, I lay my head on the table and cried about being a web editor, and I told everyone there that tequila makes my clothes come off. Then I took a cab home and left the cabbie a $12 tip because I couldn’t wait for the change.

After exiting the cab I immediately vomited in the potted plant on the sidewalk. Then I walked into my building, said hi to my doorman, got in the elevator, and pressed 22. At floor 6 I knew I wasn’t going to make it. I held my lips together with one hand. At floor 10 I vomited on the floor. At floor 16 I tried to mop it up with a piece of paper from my purse. At floor 18 I remembered the security camera in the elevator. This is the last thing I remembered that night.

I woke up this morning at 11am, fully dressed, with all the lights on. My head was cracking. I picked up my phone and saw I had written – but not sent – a message to BadInfluence that said “I’m tucked.” I think I meant fucked. My throat and mouth felt fur-lined. I stumbled into the living room and saw the cat puke with my footprint. Guess I didn’t notice that when I got in. Little guy. He wanted to puke, too.

I went into the bathroom and saw an empty box of gravol on the floor. Empty. How the fuck many gravol did I take last night? Two? Ten? FUCK. I could have OD’d…on gravol. How tragic would that have been? I can see the headlines. “Drunk whore tries to take gravol to calm her stomach; is found two days later on the floor with half her face eaten by her cat.”

I signed into facebook and one of my colleagues immediately messaged me.

Colleague: So some chick that was with us just randomly started kissing me at the table last night.
ThePeach: Send me an ambulance.
Colleague: She was really into it until she realized people were watching.
ThePeach: Please, ambulance.
Colleague: It was that chick you brought with you.
ThePeach: Wait. What?
Colleague: Ya, that girl *name removed to protect friend*
ThePeach: OH GOD.

So then I message my friend, who woke up to find her kitchen covered with shredded cheese. She was horrified to hear this revelation and has no memory of anything past midnight. None. I do not tell my colleague this, even when he asks for her number. Disaster.

So, then I dry heaved on the couch until 3pm. Then I decided to open the package my mom had sent me for my birthday. I eagerly cut open the packaging, and pulled out…this.

Yes, it is exactly what it looks like. What you see, friends, is a tshirt with a drawing of a little Korean girl holding a Siamese cat. What you can’t see is that the bow in her hair is a real bow. I thought I was hallucinating when I opened it.

My mom called shortly after to ask if I liked it. Lying makes baby jesus cry.

Then I had a 3 hour nap. Then I forced myself to get dressed and I met with my work friend for dinner. Then I came home and puked again, but this time in the can, like a lady.

Then I decided I should blog again. And here we are. It’s been five months, and my life is completely different from where I left you last time.

It’s funny how everything can change, but nothing really changes at all.



quackattack said...

*I* almost died when I saw this appear on my Google Reader. I missed your tragic tales ... tragically comic.


theCrip said...

Welcome back!

Tigercat said...

Yay your 3 loyal readers have returned to you!

Cleavage said...


Laura said...

Awesome as always. So glad you're back.

Anonymous said...

Loyal reader #6 here.

That post was great! Totally worth the wait. :)

soup na(t)zi said...

Amazing post, hope you keep up the blogging! Your writing is fantastic, don't listen to the news editor douche.

asian cymbals said...

I love you!!

And I love your t-shirt. Promise me you'll wear it to my house when next you visit.

Anonymous said...

wants pics of you in the shirt!! miss you!!

Anonymous said...

10 comments, Peach! You have many loyal readers. Though if you go an another 5 month hiatus, I'm boycotting your blog...just kidding (maybe). I just love that you're back.

Anonymous said...

5 months between posts, and not even a mention of late night cheese?

What happened Peach?

Haha kidding, glad you're back and ALIVE xox

Anonymous said...

I love that you and Asian Cymbals started blogging again at the same time (did you plan that?)

Anonymous said...

...i was going to check this blog for the last time and...YOU BLOGGED. thank you peach!

the other gay said...

<3 the shirt with the real bow on it