My Drunk History

A history of my last few weeks would just be a history of getting drunk. Things I have done in the last month while drunk include:

  • Insisting nice is an insult
  • Crying
  • Apologizing
  • Effectively removing my contacts before bed
  • Watching at least seven minutes of a football game
  • Playing trivia
  • Buying alcohol while already intoxicated at Walgreens
  • Falling asleep on the couch
  • Falling asleep in a bathtub
  • Dancing
  • Accepting business cards
  • Watching Drunk History
  • Losing my phone
  • Using Android Device Manager to find my phone’s general location
  • Asking a stranger in the vicinity of Android Device Manager’s directive to call my phone and having Jimmy John’s answer
  • Going to Jimmy John’s and being told that a homeless men dressed in red (my favorite color) brought them my phone
  • Dropping my drink right on the ground when I forgot to hold it like an astronaut who forgot how gravity works
  • And then dropping another drink
  • Throwing up, but luckily only the once
  • Forcing an enormous bus driver to take me to Taco Bell before taking me to the hotel
  • Making him so uncomfortable he comes into the Taco Bell with me
  • Buying him a taco
  • Telling him to calm down

This should also be accompanied by a brief list of things I have consequently had to do while hungover:

  • Be in a wedding
  • Catch a plane
  • Drive a rental car
  • Teach at a conference
  • Do my regular job
  • Try not to throw up
  • Help my sister through her first hangover
  • Start NaNoWriMo 2015
  • Just generally be a functional human being

So if you’re wondering why I haven’t been posting much lately, it’s because I’m drunk.

Ink Number Three

I am not an artist or a tattoo expert or a brave human. I am, in fact, just a little drunk and a little poetic. But I have to say, I am in love with tattoos.

The older I get the more I am embracing what Maggie Stiefvater summed up best as saying “Making my outside look more like my inside.” And my inside has teeth. My inside has bones and blood and rot and sparkle. I want to walk into a room and know that everyone can see exactly who I am.

Maybe it’s vain. Okay, it’s definitely vain.

But I got my first visible-visible tattoo on Sunday, and I’ve spent this week feeling like Rapunzel in Tangled.

“Oh my god, I did a thing, I did a big thing, this is a big deal.”
“Ahh, this is so cool, I’m so glad I did this.”
“Oh God, what if my mother finds out, how can I hide this from her, I’ve fucked up.”
“I feel so badass, this is so cool, this was a good choice.”

Over and over. I’m the indecisive Disney princess.

I sat in the hot tub with Melbourne last night. She has many tattoos. I admitted I kept freaking myself out when I noticed it in the mirror. She laughed and said she liked the way that the ones on her arms made her feel cool. I was delighted; I said I’d felt the same way. Tattoos make you cooler. Pretty sure that’s a fact.

Resisting Puns and Eating Phenomenal Sushi

Today I am in California. This is another new and wonderful place, to continue the last month’s trend of new and experimental living. I am here to visit a client but luckily both the people I worked with are super great. They broke for lunch at 11:30am which felt almost scandalous and took me to In N Out Burger. They were listing restaurants nearby and mentioned the place, and I said I’d never been to one. They were scandalized in the way that only people from Southern California can be. (Yes, they are both natives and called it SoCal, but no, I can’t say SoCal with a straight face.)

Client: “What. Do. You. Mean. You. Have. Never. Had. In. N. Out.”
Me:” Um, I have never been to California before?”
Client: “But it’s In N Out!”
Me: “Yes?”
Client: “I don’t understand. What kind of place did you live. Did it also have cavemen. Pls explain.”

This, I have come to realize from my California clients over the years, is just the way people from this state react to most things that don’t happen within about fifteen minutes of California. I am admittedly unconvinced that Texas should be considered part of the US, but California takes it to a new level. I am pretty sure Californians don’t really consider anything outside of San Diego to Los Angeles as actual civilization.

But being here, I kind of get it. After leaving the clients’ I answered work e-mails for an hour and then hopped down to the hotel pool and sat outside reading (it was 85 degrees so without the sun I decided it was too cold to swim. Acclimation is real.) They took me out to dinner at a hibachi place and the main course was close to what I am used to, but the sushi was absolutely to die for. Is it acceptable for a lady born in the twentieth century to swoon? Because I’m pretty sure I swooned. Over fish.

While making our food the chef formed all of the fried rice into a heart. “Heartbeat,” he mumbled quietly while slipping the spatula under part of the heart and thumping it gently. “Heartburn,” he whispered, pouring oil onto the stovetop and lighting it on fire. “Heart attack,” he said at last, demolishing the rice heart and scooping it into bowls.

It took all of my willpower not to say “Can’t beat a good pun.” BUT I RESISTED LIKE AN ADULT.

Now I am full of seafood and off to bed.

Life in the Capitol

It has slowly come to my attention that my sister and I have moved to the Capitol (as in, the Hunger Games kind). I had heard that Scottsdale was also known as Snotsdale and Snobsdale and that this was the kind of town where the mothers wore stilettos with their Lululemon. (How else can you be comfortable having wine for breakfast?) But I had also heard this was the town of the $40,000 a year millionaires where people acted like they were rich and just partied as much as they could and hopped on golf carts to get home because fuck the police and their penchant for DUIs. So I was pretty excited about this dichotomy. (I like to think of myself as somewhere between the two.)

You see, people back home keep asking about the drought we’re apparently experiencing. I have yet to see evidence of this so-called drought. In addition to the many rainstorms, we drove past a church that was watering its sidewalk in equal amounts with its weird, Arizona grass. Two days ago our apartment complex had a jank sprinkler that was literally shooting up into the air and just watering the left side of a tree. (The rest of the non-jank sprinklers water grass and sidewalk with equal exuberance.) The misters shoot water into the air in a joyous way at any restaurant with an outdoor bar or facing a busy street. Our pool has a sprinkler to cool the air.

“You’re living in the Capitol!” exclaimed Jasmine, one of Ithaca’s high school friends who is such a delight that I consider her one of my friends. (I adopt a lot of Ithaca’s friends. She has not adopted many of mine.) We laughed, and then we realized how true it was and laughed even more.

My days are full of sunshine and sprinklers and alcohol and smiling people. If this is life in the Capitol, I’m not going to support the revolution.

Girl Friends Are the Best

Having girl friends is so important. Moving across the country made me realize this in a way I never had before. Minerva made me cry before I left with the sweetest text telling me how proud she was of me and how great it would be. Lo (not her real name, as you probably guessed, Lo is the lady who owns this dog) mailed me a mermaid flask to my new apartment. Anna and I got matching friendship tattoos.

Now that I’ve moved, I’ve already started to meet amazing ladies.┬áMelbourne lives in our complex and introduced us to her friends Mouse and Mulan, and we got drunk on tequila in the pool and did shot guns of small, girl-size beers. We bonded with Melbourne over our shared Ohio roots, belief in punctuality, and ridiculous senses of humor. She took Ithaca and I out to an amazing sushi place, introduced us to Uber, and we spent the night drinking at dive bars and I walked home at nearly 4am, full of Jameson and new friendship. We also met Venus, who I’m pretty sure I want to be when I grow up (or, I guess, in five years if I don’t grow up). She had a destination wedding in Barbados, lives in a beautiful house with her husband out here, and sells Pure Romance.

Yesterday night, Venus had a Pure Romance Party that Ithaca and I brought Melbourne to and we spent the night drinking wine, eating mozzarella sticks, and giggling uncontrollably when Venus told us┬áthat one type of dildo can cling to the shower wall — and demonstrated by slapping it right onto her glass front door.

At the end of another wild and wonderful week, I am grateful for all the women in my life.

One Week in Paradise

Yesterday marked one full week since Ithaca and I moved to Scottsdale. And what a week it has been. A blog post would just turn into a novella at this point, so here’s a list of things that have been great:

  • My hair is so much softer without all the humidity. (Yes, that needed to be number one. This is a big deal.)
  • We are within walking distance of a whole bunch of awesome bars and restaurants. Friday we met two fifty-somethings and they gave us life advice and we all laughed about Tinder and listened to the live band.
  • Sunday morning we went to brunch for the endless mimosas. But I was forced to throw all previous notions of what brunch is out the window, because this was an Arizona Brunch. There were endless mimosas and bloody Marys, a literal bouncer checking IDs, and a live DJ. Yes, I said live DJ at 10am on a Sunday morning. I went to a club opening once and it was not nearly as packed as this brunch.
  • Got to walk home tipsy from brunch and spend several hours at the pool, swimming and reading.
  • Met a cool neighbor who taught me many things, like that I live in the East Valley and there are two pro baseball players living in this complex.
  • Twenty minute drive to Ikea. Hashtag blessed.
  • Palm trees everywhere.
  • Huge, beautiful library with a coffee shop inside.
  • Local bookstore nearby that does author visits so I can alleviate my Amazon guilt by buying books from an indie store for a change.

Basically, everything here is so beautiful it’s actually stupid.

Move to Arizona: Day Six

Speeding Tickets Acquired: 0

Roundabouts Dramatically Sped Through As No Police Were Nearby: 7? 8? A lot. Let’s go with a lot.


After breakfast Ithaca and I journeyed down to the Soldier’s Pass Trail for an 8am hike. We are not hikers, nor exercisers, nor great lovers of moving any farther than it takes to pick up a book or an Xbox controller, but we did it! We hiked for an hour and it was beautiful and fun and we saw a tarantula so Ithaca was deeply pleased.

We drove in to Scottsdale and had lunch at Brat Haus because it was the first place I ate in Scottsdale and it seemed fitting. (This is partially true. Mostly I wanted the cheese curds. But the tradition thing sounds better.) And then we got our keys.

What a weird, weird feeling to have been driving for so many days and to have finally arrived. I can’t imagine how people got on ships that would take weeks or months to take them to their destinations. I barely feel like I’m on planet Earth anymore, let alone my new home. I keep saying it over and over. Home, home, home. I’m hoping it will feel like it soon.

We went to Target for standard house supplies and after we got back I spent a great deal of time pacing back and forth, carrying my energy all around, trying to make the apartment feel like mine. I feel like a cat marking its territory. We don’t have internet yet so we are both sitting by the pool, glomming on to the apartment’s community area wifi. It’s not a bad place to blog, I have to give it that.