It was after 9pm when the Hot Mess called me.  It took me a bit to figure out it was her, but when she mentioned Tori Amos my face lit up.

“Any plans tonight?” she cooed. “Thought we could finish our conversation about Tori Amos.”

“No plans,” I explained. “Whatcha wanna do?”

She sighed. “Not sure. It’s Sunday, so I think everything is probably closed already.”

“How about I pick you up and we just take a drive?” I suggested. “I’ll bring good music.”

“Sounds perfect. Can you pick me up in town? I’m staying at my friend’s house?”

I spent the next hour putting together a playlist for us.  Radiohead, Norah Jones, Damien Rice, Zero 7, Hooverphonic, a bunch of other artists I won’t bore you with, and a bit of Tori Amos to be thoughtful. The perfect night driving mix. I hate when people give me haphazard mixes to listen to.  It gives me anxiety and I feel like I’m bi-polar when I go through the playlist. When making a mix, every song should be deliberate and the flow of the mix should reflect the mood of the event.  You might think I’m just being anal retentive, but seriously, when’s the last time you wanted to makeout with someone after listening to T-Pain, Creed, and Atlantic Starr one after the other?

So anyway, I took a while to put together a mix, printed out directions to her friend’s place, and then texted her I was on my way. When I pulled up to the two-story walk up, she was already walking downstairs to meet me.

“Hey!” she bounced on to the passenger seat. “Thanks for getting me.”

“No problem. Anywhere in particular you want to drive to?”

“Nah, let’s just drive.” We pulled out of the driveway and back on to the main road.  We traded ex-stories and she told me about her abusive ex who was an asshole by day and shady poker dealer by night who once struck her with a ceramic coffee mug.  I told her theEx and how I didn’t have any plans to move back, but was forced to move back while she went to law school. She was sarcastic and dark and liked to flirt. She had long brown hair that often hid one of her eyes and clothes obviously meant to get my attention. She was the kind of girl that had trouble written all over her, but you went for her anyway in hopes of being something better for her.  I have a Prince Charming tendency and I wanted so badly to save her.

“I really have to pee,” she blurted out as we drove through the quiet neighborhoods in town. “Can we stop somewhere?”

I checked the clock. 11:52 pm. “Sure, it’s kind of late, though. I can just take you back to your friend’s place, if you want.”

She shook her head. “I don’t want to go home yet, I just need to pee.  Bad.”

“Okay, okay.” I made a u-turn at the next light to go the Zippy’s nearby. She was already reaching to open the door while I was  pulling in to the stall.

“Did I tell you about my tattoo?” she asked.

I turned to look at her, the first time being able to look right at her for most of the evening. She wasn’t a girl I’d normally be attracted to, but there was something about her that made me want to kiss her.  “I don’t think so?”

“I have a pair of lips.”

I nearly choked on my spit. “Excuse me?”

She smirked. “I’ll show you.” She grabbed my hand and made lift the bottom of her shorts, revealing a pair of red lips on her upper thigh.  As a knee-jerk reaction, I jumped up from my seat and hit my head on the ceiling and then on the driver’s side window.  “Oh my god, are you okay?” she asked, half-laughing. She touched my head and we just smiled at each other in silence.

We drove back to her friend’s house listening to Norah Jones and discussed how her music makes you feel as if you’re spending a lazy day at a beach house and watching the surf. She knew all of my favorite songs and even recited her favorite lines.

When I pulled up to the lopsided two-story walk-up, I wished I had taken a very scenic route. I pulled into the guest stall and turned off the engine, letting Norah Jones’ “Those Sweet Words” envelope us up in a sweet blanket of sound.

She smiled. “Thank you for tonight. It was different.”

“You mean boring?”

“No, not at all. I’ve never just driven around with someone listening to music and talking like this before.”

“Good night,” I said,  the second word falling to a quiet hum.

She sat there for a moment, about to reach for the door handle, but then quickly turned in and kissed me. I could smell her perfume on her skin and her lips were wet with gloss. “Good night. Call me tomorrow.”

I drove home in a daze, confident that this was the start of something interesting.

Comments Posted: September 27th 2009
Filed under: The Good
Tagged In: night driving, socially awkward, the hot mess, the perfect mix

Monday is my birthday, but I don’t feel any older. I’m not sure what I think 26 should feel like…maybe a Zach Braff movie?

I never planned on coming back to Hawaii after college. It wasn’t my dream–theEx sort of bullied me into it when she decided on going to law school in Hawaii even though she also got accepted to an equally ranked school in San Fran (where I actually wanted to live). Now that we’ve broken up, I am no longer obligated to stay in Hawaii, but now there are new strings to keep me here. I’ve had to re-think my lifeplan when I moved back here and now I’ve had to re-think my finances since theEx left me in our apartment that I can’t afford.

Maybe because of all of these things, 26 feels strange. I feel really young for how heavy this number feels, like I should be more grounded by now.

By the way, did I tell you, the Hot Mess finally called me.Happy early birthday, me!

Comments Posted: September 26th 2009
Filed under: Random Thoughts

I sleep on a bed with no frame. The box spring is still wrapped in plastic and when I roll around too much in my sleep, I wake up with the mattress at least several inches from where it’s supposed to be.

On those mornings, I forget where I am.

Comments Posted: September 24th 2009
Filed under: Random Thoughts
Tagged In: quarter life crisis, sleep, what happened to dreaming

I’m not the kind of person that gets noticed in a bar or club. Nobody locks eyes with me from across the room and lets me buy them a drink. I’m not a particularly good dancer (in fact, I’m so awful that I avoid dancing completely), so nobody notices me on the dance floor and tries to edge their way over to me and grind up on my leg (which might actually be a pro rather than a con).

The other night my friend Jen asked me to be her faux-date to a co-worker’s birthday. “Just one drink,” she promised me, “then we’ll go. I’ll even drive.”

She picked me up a quarter past 11pm and I felt under-dressed. She’s the kind of girl that never leaves the house without makeup and always stands out in a room. And I’m, well, me.

When we got there I gave the birthday girl a kiss on the cheek to be polite and bought her a drink. She stuck around long enough to say thank you, but quickly left us to make her rounds at all the tables of people she knew.

From across the room, I noticed a girl sipping on a drink and whispering with her flamboyantly gay friend.  She was clearly drunk and one of those girls who like to be noticed when intoxicated because of the way she laughed without any embarrassment of being too loud.

Girls like her always kill me. I can spot a hot mess a mile away.

Jen and I made small talk while I kept my eye on the Hot Mess.  She tossed her long dark hair and pulled down her very short black dress before standing up. She wasn’t conventionally pretty in any way, but what she lacked in looks she made up in confidence and scandalous clothing.

“Are you guys having a good time?” the birthday girl asked, finally finishing her rounds at our table. She was blocking my view of the Hot Mess.

“Yeah, thanks for inviting us,” Jen answered for both of us. “Are you drunk yet?”

“Surprisingly not. All this being a good host crap sobers you up pretty fucking fast. I haven’t really had a chance to sit down yet.”

I nearly choked on my drink when I saw the Hot Mess walking towards me. I could feel everyone looking at her as she approached us. Girls like her don’t talk to or acknowledge socially awkward people like me, but maybe tonight…

She threw her arm around the birthday girl and gave her a squeeze, confirming that hot messes like herself pay no attention to mild mannered people like me.

“Hey, we’re gonna get going,” she said to the birthday girl. I sighed with defeat, but when I looked up she was looking right at me. “Hi,” she smiled.

I stirred my watery 7-up and smiled back awkwardly. “Hi.”

“I’m so glad you came,” the birthday girl told her, giving her a big hug. “Call me later, okay?”

“Oookay,” she slurred. She tapped the table right in front of my glass to get my attention. “Bye, youuu.”

“See ya.” I tried to sound casual and cool, but it didn’t matter because the words didn’t come out until she practically out the door.

Jen finished her drink and slammed the empty glass on the table. “We should probably get going too. Let’s go.”

On our way to the car, I saw the Hot Mess wandering around the parking lot with her friend chasing behind her clutching onto her heels.  “You need to put your shoes back on!” he ordered, but she was too busy weaving between the row of cars to listen.  She stopped next to the car parked on the right of us.

“This person has a Tori Amos CD in their car!” she exclaimed, jumping up and down.

“Who is Tori Amos??” her friend yelled back.

Jen unlocked her car and opened the back door to change shoes.  “So drunk,” she said under her breath with a laugh.

“How do you NOT know who Tori Amos is?!” the Hot Mess screamed. “She is A-maaaaazing!” She whipped around and nearly banged into me. “Sorry.”

“I like Tori Amos,” I offered. “If that helps.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “At least there’s ONE cool person here!”

We stood there for a minute in silence just looking at each other. “I really like her song ‘A Sorta Fairytale.’”

“That’s my favorite song!” she answered.

Jen honked the horn, she was already sitting in the car and had it running. I sighed. “Sorry, I gotta go.”

The Hot Mess frowned. The first frown of the evening. “Awww don’t leave! This conversation was just getting good!”

“Sorry–my friend is going to kick my ass soon. I gotta get going, it’s getting late.”

“Maybe you can call me some time and we talk more about music?” she smiled.

I was shocked. Alcohol clearly gave her beer goggles and made me appear much more attractive and interesting than I really am. “Yeah, of course. I’d love to.”

“Wait,” she paused. “I’m so drunk–I don’t even know my own phone number!”

I reached into my wallet and pulled out my business card. “That’s okay. Maybe you can call me instead. Just don’t lose it. I don’t want a homeless person to find it and start calling me for a late night booty call.”

She laughed and then grinned in the way that suggests something big is about to happen. “Okay, I won’t lose it. See ya.” She skipped away–still drunk–and disappeared with her friend in the row of cars in front of us.

Comments Posted: September 23rd 2009
Filed under: The Good
Tagged In: drunk adventures, something big might happen, the hot mess, the promise of something new, tori amos

I am not ashamed to say that I see a therapist. Some people are embarrassed that they see one, but I’m actually quite comfortable saying I do. After all, I think I’m fairly fortunate to be able to talk to someone objective about my odd life.

Today’s session was sort of random. I didn’t really have anything I wanted to talk about, so I rambled on about various topics until one stuck out. I told her I had a conversation last week with my mother about my upcoming birthday.  She told me that she had me when she was my age (25) and for some reason that really stuck with me. I began thinking about how old my mom seemed when I was younger and then realized  I’m the same age she was when she had me. It’s a very jilting feeling.

One of the first memories I have is of my grandpa passing away when I was about 5. By then, my mom was only 30 and suddenly the idea of losing my parents has become very tangible and scary. Apparently this common for people my age to feel.

Not only that, I’m beginning to feel pressure to be something more. For some time now, I’ve felt like a wanderer. TheEx, on the other hand, had big dreams and tons of ambition. She pushed me to achieve the dreams she thought I should achieve, but without her here, I feel like I’m just drifting along. I’m supposed to be a grown up now. I’m supposed to be start making a name for myself by now, right?

I feel so ill-prepared. I don’t feel like a grown up quite yet. But I think this is what the quarter life crisis is all about.

Comments Posted: September 23rd 2009
Filed under: Random Thoughts
Tagged In: birthday, death, quarter life crisis, worrying about the unbearable lightness of being