the truth will set you free

There are some things a girl just doesn’t tell people. Liiiikeee – if she stuffs her bra, if she slept with her third cousin (through marriage, you guys!), if she once ate cake out of the trash (ONCE). These are all things you just don’t tell people.

One secret I’ve hidden is eating me away inside. I keep it held tight for fear of judgement and rejection once it comes out. It’s time, though, that I do it. That just let it out there into the Interwebs and hope that you all continue to love me.

It all started two nights ago when I was tired. So tired, in fact, that I could not sleep. I proceeded to drink a bottle of glass of wine in the hopes that I would get drowsy. I ended up drunk, laying in my pitch dark room, listening to my iTunes on shuffle.  CAUTION: THE NEXT FEW LINES ARE SAPPY. PROCEED TO NEXT PARAGRAPH IF YOU WOULD RATHER NOT BE A PART OF IT. I feel, in many ways, that I’m just at the beginning. A new job, nearly completing my Masters degree, a new outlook. At the beginning of anything, though, it’s natural to be scared. I’m starting to feel like I’m growing up too fast. Things are happening so quickly and I’m afraid I won’t get them right.

As I lay there in my bed, intoxicated, and thinking about these new changes – a song came on that spoke to me. It was like the songwriter was IN MY HEAD. I wept. I wept openly. And it felt great. A few of the lines go like this:

So scared of getting older
I’m only good at being young
So I play the numbers game
To find a way to say that life has just begun

Had a talk with my old man
Said “help me understand”
He said “turn sixty-eight
You renegotiate”

“Don’t stop this train
Don’t for a minute change the place you’re in
And don’t think I couldn’t ever understand”

So I have just decided to admit it. The man who wrote those lyrics fucking gets me, you guys. And I don’t care what you say — he’s an amazing guitarist. Just don’t look at his face. Eric Clapton can NOT be wrong (seriously. look it up online. Clapton hearts him).

And yeah – his persona? A bit douchey. I ask this of anyone I know in real life: Do I like douchebags? Yes. Yes I do.

His new song references smoking the marijuana and booty calls. Backed a sensual voice and calming guitar. Not many men can do that these days.

I am a fan of John Mayer.

Deal with it, world!

.gumbo.

Okay, I’m a horrible human being.
Almost a month, me!? A MONTH without blog posts?

Jesus Christ. I’m back in the game now. I’m re-focused.

I’m just going to jump into it: I’m still really kind of broke, dating a lot (read: slut), back in school, working for a great company, learning how to put together a website, shoe shopping often, learning how to cook, reading a lot of books, drinking gallons a bit of wine and wishing I were funnier.

There you have it. Me, updated.

There is something happening in the world, however, which I would like to discuss here and now.

Hot older men banging chicks that work for them. Case in point: David Letterman. The Original Silver Fox.

I would like to know — where the fuck these men are and why I’m not working for them? I’m an alright looking gal. I have a nice situation up top. I have been known to make a man giggle. I have been known to do another thing or two for a man. And yet — I haven’t run into one with power over me who wanted to use it to his advantage.

WHERE ARE THEY!?

Can I please work for someone who wants to have a dangerous love affair with me? Is this something one could put on Craigslist? My experience in writing copy means I could put something together fast. Something like this:

Seeking: hot older man in need of a writer, personal assistant, babysitter, lounge singer, personal shopper or house painter who never hesitates to  give a little ’something extra.’ Prefer a man under 70 with great hair and large wallet. Compensation discussed on a task-by-task basis.

Sound good? I’ll post it as soon as I get some approval from you all.

There. A mixed bag post. A gumbo, if you will. See you tomorrow, bitches.