Cookie Smell

Maybe I Smell Like Fresh Cookies

In the past week I have been contacted by a number of former romantic interests, I got a fabulous new job doing work I love, I was praised by a former boss in a way that made me feel shiny and special, and a nineteen year old redhead hit on me.

A nineteen year old redhead punk boy thought I was cool.

Woah.

Also, this guy who won't be named had a two hour conversation with me on Sunday. I'm not going to say who it was, but I will reveal the fact that I used to break out in a sweat every damn time he happened to be on an elevator with me. Every damn time. Did you ever have one of those crushes on someone who just slayed you, who knocked you down with their mental beauty every time you talked to them, that person who you liked so much that inevitably the most stupid, inane, idiotic things would pop out of your mouth when you tried to respond to their brilliance? That crush that you had so deep and profound that you couldn't do anything about it, while at the same time you knew how totally obvious you had to be?

Yeah, so that guy called me. He was worried I might be getting married. And for some reason, I forgot to ask him why he was worried. Because I'm a complete and total idiot even on the phone with him.

Maybe I should nearly get engaged more often. It seems to scare up other suitors and life prospects. Not that any of these guys have any possible means of actually dating me or anything, but it's just funny - I let everybody know I'm thinking about settling down, and suddenly I get a job, and the guys come a-callin'. Maybe it's that huge breakthrough I had in my personal artwork. Maybe success sends out secret pheremones that can be detected thousands of miles away.

Or maybe it's just Elizabeth season. I seem to recall a jump in romantic activity this time last year as well.

Of course this year I'm living with relatives, so there's no chance of any actual...activity. Which is a positive thing anyway, because I seem to have painted myself into a romantic corner of sorts. I have no idea what to do next, so maybe I'll just sit in this corner by myself a bit while the paint dries...I'm intersted as to how the artwork will look, after the light shines on it. In truth, I've no bloody idea what the floor I tried to paint looks like. And that's enough vague English-major-type insinuation for this blog entry.

In other news, I have my very own office with a window. They're gonna give me business cards, and I get to write my very own policy manual for archivists with this institution. My cousin Ruel's 4th birthday is this weekend. My cousin Eleanor said my name last week (a feat for her tiny mouth). I'm renting my cousin Karina's wood-sided station wagon until I get my first check, with which I'll buy a car, beating my own deadline for car ownership by a good 15 days.

I still haven't processed all this yet. Last Friday, the day after they told me I had the job, I went in for a physical. Afterwards, I drove to Little 5 Points and opened up an account with the local store. That's when I noticed there was an Indian restaurant across the street. The sun was shining, I had a job that started Monday, and I had comic books and somewhere new to eat. I drove around the neighborhood noticing all the rental houses available, and I thought, I'm going to make this happen, this life that I want.

Everything is going to be good again. Better even. And now, just because I finally fucking can, I think I'll quote John Hodge's script for Irving Welsh's Trainspotting:

I'm going to change. This is the last of this sort of thing. I'm cleaning up and I'm moving on, going straight and choosing life. I'm looking forward to it already. I'm going to be just like you: the job, the family, the fucking big television, the washing machine, the car, the compact disc and electrical tin opener, good health, low cholesterol, dental insurance, mortgage, starter home, leisurewear, luggage, three-piece suite, DIY, game shows, junk food, children, walks in the park, nine to five, good at golf, washing the car, choice of sweaters, family Christmas, indexed pension, tax exemption, clearing the gutters, getting by, looking ahead, to the day you die.


right on, Rents.