Okay. I'm officially too old for 3 days of DMB at the Gorge. By Sunday my body tried to rebel and force me never to get up again. After 2 days of being in the sun, standing and walking around at a concert, waking up to bloody marys and . . . other things (my peanut butter & chocolate chip cookies were a huge hit, I might add) . . . I'd had enough. I have 48 hours of fun in me. That is all.

I am still recovering.

But it was a good time.

I miss the old days when seeing Dave wasn't such . . . an ordeal. I remember the first show I went to at the Pepsi (or whatever the fuck it was called then). I'm pretty sure it was in 1996. The venue wasn't even close to being sold out, we fairly easily got decent seats, they were inexpensive, and they place wasn't full of drunken, stoned college students. Oh, how things change. I almost had to beat the shit out of a drunk making out couple that came *this* close to falling on my right foot. The one that was very sore because I probably shouldn't have been standing on it on concrete during a 2 hour show.

Barely back for two days and it's time to pack to head home again. It will be an interesting week. Foot doctor, Heather's wedding, LEEP.
So there I am, innocently walking back from the post office with my iPod on, when someone says "maybe to you they do." I pause, confused. It sounded like it was aimed at me. I realize it was one of the many annoying street kids (my ability to be sympathetic in regards to many of them has diminished exponentially in my four years of being forced to deal with them on Broadway and on the Ave). I keep walking and it hits me. So I burst out laughing. Today I'm wearing my "Everybody Lies" House t-shirt. It says HOUSE on the back, but apparently he doesn't watch much TV.

In other news, I have once again become a mobile human being. I made a practice walk around the corner to Starbucks yesterday sans boot. Halle-fuckin-lujah. I made it. So I started driving. It was a productive day. Got my oil changed. Found a dress for Heather's wedding. Got my vehicle emissions test. Registered my car. Had happy hour with the lovely Misti. All in all a solid day.

Here's the dress I got. Since I was mobile, figured it was worth it to try to find a dress in person, instead of ordering a ton of them online, only to have none of them work. It's much more me than my favorite of the three I'd ordered from Nordstrom's, doesn't make me feel like a human sausage squeezed into a satiny casing, and isn't strapless. Strapless dresses are just not meant for women with chests, I don't care what anyone says. So, I like it, it fits, and there's a good chance it could get more than one wear. Yay.

Now I feel like I could use a nap.
Apparently, after drinking a bottle of wine, it's pretty difficult to sleep through the night and one winds up feeling pretty crappy the next day.

Funny how that works.
I really want to take a shower.

However, the hot water is out.

It was out yesterday too. I took a cold shower yesterday morning and it was incredibly unpleasant.

They're working on it now. Please fix it soon.

Oh, and I've caught my sleeping disease again.
The guy at Starbucks gave me my latte for free. Yay.

Then proceeded to tell me all about how excited he is for the gaming convention this weekend.

Geeks are so adorable.

In unrelated news (although, now that I think about it, it could conceivably be related) . . . I know this is a problem some women wish they could have, but I'd really like my chest to stop growing. I can't afford a new collection of bras.
I guess eating the Kinder Duplo was not the best way to deal with the dress depression, but it sure did taste good.

(No, I didn't eat a whole pack of 10. Just one bar. I have a pack of 10, but I do know a few things about portion control.)
Since trying on dresses for my friend's wedding has proved incredibly depressing, I figured I'd upload some furbaby pictures in an attempt to life the mood.

The furbabies. )
I love Heather dearly and am very much looking forward to her wedding.

What I'm not loving, however, is trying to find a dress to wear to it.

One dress is too big, one just looked icky on me, one is too small. The last one was my favorite of the bunch and, while I can get it zipped, I suspect I would just wind up uncomfortable for the day.

Fucking stupid fucking body.

I miss being skinn.
Couldn't sleep last night. Bed around 2. Up around 6.

So, around 9:30 I decided I needed to lie down again.

I woke up 15 minutes ago. (It's 12:40.) And I'm the groggiest person ever.

This isn't going to be a very productive day. Not that that makes it any different from the days before today.
This could have been my secret while I was in high school:

I still remember staring my doctor in the face and insisting I did not have an eating disorder. Yelling at my mother. Ignoring my friends. Of course, I never became skinny enough. Something snapped in me around 18 and I just . . . started eating again. I never quite knew what changed. It just did. I am now 33 pounds heavier than I was when I was 16 (I wish I was kidding) and have been for the last few years. I often look in the mirror and am not terribly thrilled with what I see, but I receive a great amount of pleasure out of food and drink - too much so to go back to that. I no longer obsess (in an all consuming, difficult to think about anything else, kind of way) about food 24 hours a day. I no longer have a desk covered in post-it notes with calorie countings. Eating a bowl of cereal is no longer emotionally and mentally painful. There are days when I wish I could re-awaken that part of my 16 year old self, lose some of this weight again, but most days I am happy to have laid that part of myself to rest. Instead, whenever this foot heals, I'll go back to trying to walk more and attempting to figure out some version of exercise that will hold my attention long enough to lose a few of these beer-induced pounds.

Anyways, sometimes it's good to remind myself where I've been - particularly on days when I'm not feeling terribly fabulous as a human being.
Today is the four year anniversary of the day I moved out here.
I guess, if nothing else, the crutches have forced me to 'exercise.' Walking to and from the chiropractor this morning was a serious workout. Nothing like having to lift your body weight every step.

Finally saw HP5 last night at the IMAX theater with Misti. Holy shit. Definitely the best one yet. And, something about it made it better than the book for me, for the first time. Yes, sure - plenty of things were left out, due to the necessity of time. However, some of the storyline was captured so incredibly on the screen. From the very beginning, it was a terrifying and dark film. Harry is older (and, I'm ashamed to admit, fucking adorable), life is more difficult, all of the characters are growing up, it's clear war is brewing. Not a movie for children, if you ask me. Plus, 20 minutes of the film were in 3D, which was completely trippy. I'm not too proud to admit - I cringed away from 'things' a few times.

Oh, and there was something especially sexy about Snape in the film.

And the character who plays Lucius Malfoy is oh-so-perfectly evil.

And I wanted to reach into the screen and tear Umbridge's head off at the neck. The actress who played her was fabulous and generated exactly the kind of emotion I believe was intended. She so perfectly captured the dark, viscious persona covered in that sugary, pink exterior.

Blah blah blah.

Going to lie on my couch, because everything else makes my knee hurt.
Um, weird. I had a test anxiety dream last night. I wish I could remember who the instructor was - someone who really was in my past, but intimidating. It was an AP exam I think. And I forgot to answer an entire section. Which, of course, stressed me out a bit.

Alright, back to bed. Why I felt compelled to sit at my computer after feeding the cats is a mystery.
Another one bites the dust.

Karl Rove is resigning at the end of the month.
It just took me almost 25 minutes to shave my legs in the bathtub.

I miss being able to do so in the shower.

My foot is sore. I haven't been very good to it over the last few days. I actually left my crutches in the car during Eddie Izzard last night. *is ashamed* It didn't hurt while I was hobbling into and out of the theater, but it's a bit sore today. I'm usually such a good patient, but I just hate the crutches. So very, very much.

And I need to change the channel, because there's a show on National Geographic about Icelandic delicacies - and so far, they involve things like sheep head, rotting shark, ram guts, and other nauseating foods. It's actually starting to make me feel ill. And yet, I'm entranced . . . *shudder*

Yeah, I need to change it. Shark meat rotting for 2 months, smelling like ammonia, looking like it's been decaying. In preparation for some ancient recipe. The chef smells it until he thinks it's ready. Apparently he decides it is at 6 months of rotting.

Animal fetus? (Preview before commercial break.)

Oh. God.

*running from desk to find remote*

Changed to a science show about superstorms.

Much better. I might even be able to finish my bowl of cereal now.
Ah, I forgot to update about Eddie. :)

He was, as always, fabulous. I was a tiny disappointed that he wasn't in drag for the show, as it was Mark's first time ever seeing Eddie. I figured, to get the full Izzard effect, you should see him in lipstick and leather boots for the first time. But, I suspected he might forego all of that given what he's been working on lately (probably has to maintain facial hair for The Riches, for example). Or he just felt like looking like a sexy guy, which is always a possibility as well. I'll take Eddie in jeans, a button down, and blazer just as easily as I'll take him with boobs and a mini skirt.

He was on stage for about 2 hours, which is never long enough. Of course, I'm so smitten that all he has to do is change his facial expression for me to laugh. The show was his usual great combination of politics, pop culture, religion, history, miscellaneous amusement. For example, at one point in the show, a fly did a kamikaze run at Eddie's forehead. Literally. So the next 10 minutes, at least, was Eddie talking insects and following the fly around the stage. Somehow, he even made that hysterical. He made a few references to earlier shows, which were hysterical, but someone like Mark would have missed them, having not seen Unrepeatable, Dressed to Kill, and so forth.

Unfortunately, I consumed a few too many McMennaman's beers beforehand to remember really specific details (not that there was a high likelihood of that anyways - I don't have that kind of memory).

All in all, worth the money and aggravation spent from Berlin to acquire tickets. Plus, he was oh-so-close in the tiny theater. Thirteen rows away, you could see every facial movement and expression, which is exactly how one should see Eddie.

For the curious, he looked a bit like he does in this photo.
I needed a pick me up, so I caved and bought a 3 pack of Foxers a little while ago.

Of course, as with all consumer therapy purchases, the perk only lasted a few minutes. I suppose there will be another once they arrive, but that won't last very long either.

ETA: I forgot. I'm signed up for the Story People story of the day and today's story was just so . . . fitting for how I feel today. It's called Aiming Low:

I need you to come home soon, she said. I'm walking around like a woman who's let herself go.

Funny when little things like that just work.
While discussing various relationships . . . mostly those of other people (who will remain nameless) . . . Sam and I decided we should come with a warning label. So I blurted out: Warning: Contents under pressure. And a half hour later . . . I'm still giggling.
So, thanks to the broken foot, I've had to dress shop for Ms. Murphy's wedding via the lovely internet. Now, anyone who knows me, knows that you can probably count on a single hand the number of times I've worn a dress in the last five years. Thus, shopping for a dress is not something I find terribly enjoyable or easy. Nothing ever seems to fit right. It's too long (because I'm short); if it fits my waist, then it's probably too tight around my chest; if it fits the latter, then there's a good chance it doesn't fit my waist; and so on. Mom's been kind enough to help me, since our plan of action has been to order a bunch of dresses so I can shop from my apartment. So far, I have these on their way, all in black:

Dress 1
Dress 2
Dress 3

We shall see. I suppose if my luck continues as it has been, then the second one would come in handy for hiding the ugly boot.

It's nice and sunny out. Wish I could go for a walk.
Nothing like some hydrocodone and cuddling with 15 pounds of fluff to make you care somewhat less about the pain.

Watched last week's performance episode of So You Think You Can Dance, since it got taped over at my parents' house. And, maybe it's the painkillers talking, but Dominic and Lauren's pseudo-rumba made me temporarily all hot and bothered. (Well, okay - until Dominic shamelessly stole that kiss at the end. Then it just got embarassing. For him.)

Course, Mia's contemporary piece about her father - danced by Lacy and Neil - followed that, so that dampened the mood immediately.

Going to watch the former once more. For good measure.
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