friend says wha?

whiitethrash
you know about nathan right?
my friend nathan?
he's like my male sarah
i never understand
and i have never understood
a damn fucking word that comes out of his mouth on the telephone.
so when we make plans
i'm never positive what they are
or if i am picking him up
or if he is picking me up
or if it's something i even want to do
or is even legal!
i just kinda go over to his house and hit the bong.

gemath y:
and?

whiitethrash
well, to buy time
until i hear what the next move is
and then i usually say i dont want to do that
and he is always like, but you just said you would
and i have no idea, obviously.
i am telling you this because i just ignored his phone call
because i dont want any surprises tonight.

I've been riding my bike.

For two weeks, I've taken the Southwest Corridor to work. I really like riding my bike and all the fears I had surrounding riding in the city are gone. It takes between 15 and 20 minutes to get to work, which is much faster than the train. On very hot days, riding is a cool breeze. At night, it keeps me from the temptation of taking a cab home. So, riding my bike: BFI.

I've gotten so used to the speed of getting around. A ten minute walk takes 2 or 3 minutes on the bike. So, after my 8 am doctor's appointment (you can guess the kind...) and trying to fit 40 minutes of cardio intensity into 30 minutes at the gym, I got ready like lightning and hopped on my bike like the wind. I always follow traffic laws. I haven't done a lot of research on biking rules or anything, but when in doubt, I always imagine I am a car and think, WWJD? If he was driving a car, that is. But on Thursday, I was running late to work.

Consider this map for a moment: MAP See where it says Newbury St? Find Berkeley St. Now Find Commonwealth Ave.

So, I ALWAYS ride down Berkeley (a one-way), take a right on Comm Ave, and another right onto Arlington (a one-way), so I can get onto the sidewalk in front of the former Ritz, which is now The Taj, and park my bike in front of work. This is the way Jesus driving a car would go. But you know, I notice a lot of people riding up Newbury St. the wrong way as a short cut. I know this is wrong. I know. But, A LOT of people do it. Every day, a lot of people break the law and I see them and they look like nice, happy people. So, the day I was going to be late to work, I decided, I would be less like Jesus and more like nice, happy people and go the wrong way up Newbury St, a one-way street. This is where the BFI becomes the WFI.

After about two car lengths of breaking the law, a woman I'd guess is in her early 40's, stepped out from between two cars to cross the street and just so happened to be right in front of me. I screamed, "WHOA" and swerved to miss her. Due to her inaction, we collided and I fell directly on my knee and ankle, ripping my jeans, scraping my knee, and spraining my ankle. When I looked over, she was on the ground as well. Before I could say, "Are you ok?" she started yelling at me. "Just WHAT were YOU doing riding the WRONG way down a ONE WAY street?!!?" I just stared at her, shocked, and said, "What were you doing not in a crosswalk." She didn't say anything. I noticed the rip in my jeans and the blood as I got up. I said, "We are both wrong. Leave it at that. I'm sorry. I have to go to work now." And started walking off in a daze. She followed me yelling YOU SHOULD GET A TICKET!!! In an unusual coincidence, there happened to be a motorcade of state troopers on the block at that moment. A mustachioed, aviator wearing cliche of a trooper walked up to me and asked if a car hit me. I said no, a lady walked in front of me and I fell. He seemed satisfied with that until whatshername huffed and puffed her way over and said to him, "She was going the wrong way down a one way street!!! I think she should get a ticket!" She was seeking justice, that's for sure, straight from the law enforcement themselves. The officer looked at me, the bike, me again and back at her and shrugged, "It's not a very fast bike." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" Then he snapped into action, "You know. You're not supposed to do that, you know. It's not a fast bike and you're not a messenger, but if you were going fast, you could really hurt someone." "Oh, I know. I'm sorry." "Don't you think she should get a ticket?!" The woman wouldn't let it go. He just looked at her and deadpanned, "Are you alright." It was not as lost on me as it was on her. She began to answer with her voice all quivery, "Oh, I'm fine. I'm a little shooken up is all. I'll feel this tomorrow." To which the officer answered with a, "Wellp." And we all walked away from each other.

So, I ruined her day by doing something I wasn't supposed to do. She ruined my day by doing the same. We were even. It was all pretty shitty though. Especially the swelling and bruises on my foot and the oozing road rash on my knee. My friend couldn't come get me from work cause his car was broken. Waiting for a minivan cab took an hour and a half and cost me five extra dollars. Nothing good came from being less like Jesus.

Halfway through my first client, I realized I also lost my phone in the ordeal. So, goodbye all those phone numbers I had but rarely used! I'm currently trying to track down the person who found it and is calling a bunch of people. They can keep the phone. I just want my numbers. Seems like the person who found it has a lot of spanish speaking friends, so my guess is one of the construction workers at Brooks Brothers found it since it happened right out front. Or maybe I left it at the gym and the cleaning ladies found it and don't want to return it. Either way, I feel disconnected and as if time does not exist. In other words, lonely.

To take care of any bad karma accrued because of the incident, I have decided to be a monthly donor to Greenpeace. Perhaps stopping to talk to those crazy solicitors on the corners of Starbucks is going to bite me in my butt, but at least I'll help save some indigenous people of the forests up in Canada from having their land clear cut by Kimberly Clark. Perhaps it's another WFI. We'll see how long it lasts.

So, anyway. I haven't been riding my bike anymore.

Shout out to my Grady lady/I don't care that you are a victim of a crime, what are you going to do for me?

Yo Colleen from work,

I'm really sorry about what happened tonight. I just feel awful for you and your loss. It really sucks. When you walked into the back room in a panic that your purse was missing, I knew it wasn't in the salon and that no one at work took it. I just knew it. I knew you had to have left it somewhere. I am really glad you listened to my suggestion of going back to Au Bon Pain. And even though you did actually leave it outside on the patio and someone took it into the women's bathroom and stole your credit card, iphone, $300 in cash and left it in the trash only to be found later by the cleaning crew, I don't think there's anything further we can do right now. You're safe. I'm safe. There weren't any stillborns cozying up to your purse in the dumpster. There's nothing for us to really worry about anymore. Except for my legs. That's right, my hairy legs.

Yeah, I am really glad to help you call to cancel your card and phone service and talk to the police. And I always enjoy being the calm and collected one in a crisis. Your thank yous are such an ego boost. I also really enjoy being right, so to find that your epitome of perfection vintage purse that I am so jealous of, albeit raped of your finer things, was actually still at ABP is kind of like a high five to my heart. And I really really like you cause you're awesome and a babe and I am glad that the only things that were stolen are replaceable. The purse itself is safe. And that's all I care about. Besides, you are a magnet for money and your iphone complete with babelicious photo of myself, although precious and loved by you and me both equally, is just a few weeks away from being able to be purchased again. You know, don't worry about it. You can take a picture of me with a new phone anytime. As tragic as tonight may seem for you, you are so blessed and rich in a lot of ways. Plus, I am probably going to buy your couch in which case, you'll be $75 wealthier.

But back to me. And the legs. The ones I was was waxing when you burst into the back room with that teary panic look you wore for the next two hours. I only got one and a half waxed. Now I gotta walk around with half a leg looking like Lohan's crotch and the other half looking like Brit's weave. I don't have time to go to the salon tomorrow, and Thursday I am working from sun up and going out until sun down. And by sun down, I mean early Friday morning. And by plans I mean working on making out with an Irish boy. So let's all be glad we're not talking about a half waxed upper lip or anything because those already slim chances would be looking Nicole Richie slim about now.

In conclusion Colleen, you owe me. I know you're making me and Elin dinner at your house on Friday, but you offered way long ago and I gave you twenty five bucks to get home, so we are not even right now. Don't think you don't owe me. And now that we're talking about it, I need my underarms done too...

Coughwax these legscough,
Meghan.

He called.

To cancel. But in a very cute and nice way. I guess.



I should move to Zanzibar. No, he should.

2 lame 2 b so long. sry.

So, I broke it off with that sobriety thing I was on. Although I've taken to shirley temples when out, I did get drrrrrrrunbk on monday night. And only good things came out of it, so I'll be drinking again soon. for sure. like for sure for sure.

I wanted to see some djs I read about in the paper Monday night, so I recruited Emily as my date with the night. She has not only made me dinner 3 times and drives me all over the place, but the night before I smoked all her weed and ate her pot cookies, so it was only fair for me to take her out. On our first beer, I recognized a guy at the bar who seemed to be in charge at the Certified Bananas show the previous Friday. Emily said, "We'll be talking to him tonight." So, while I was buying round 2, she stopped him to chat. When I came over he said he remembered me from the friday before and complimented me on my dancing. Em and I are in agreement that it is a compliment of the highest order. End result: He invites us to future dance parties and gives us his contact info. This is followed by more beer.

Then, we meet an Irish guy. Giggle, swoon. Fight about Michael Moore and Pitchfork. I buy us all another beer. Bar closes and we go to Store24. End result: I get his number.

So, we have a great night. We get Sunchips and vitamin water and drive home (yikes). But the non-sober driving is not even the WFI. Talking about the boys we met brought us back to Old Guy. Emma pumped me up into calling him. At 3am. Drunk.

WFI? I left a message. It went a little like this:

Hey it's me. Meghan. I know you shut your phone off at night. And you're probably sleeping. And maybe even if you weren't and your phone was on and you were up or even if you woke up I don't think you'd even answer. But I'm calling cause I was talking about you with Em and I miss you and I don't think I was very nice to you the last time I saw you and I'm sorry. I want to apologize for that. And you can call me back. I am not working tomorrow. And if you don't call me back, I'll call you again anyway. So, just make it easier and call me. But I'll call you anyway if you can't or forget or something. So call me only if you want to. Okbye.

Ayeeeaeeeeie.

But he called back. And left a good message I returned the call and he was sweet. And we have kindof plans tomorrow morning. Before he moves away forever.