It's time for a vacay
I yelled at my co-worker today. And it felt good.
Who am I?
For the record, the bitch deserved it. And I should really go about my Friday. But I still feel...dirty.
I hate confrontation. But dammit, stress levels were high and I couldn't take the accusations anymore. "Why aren't you doing this? Why didn't you do that? Why don't you care?" I'd had enough. So I defended myself. I mean, when someone accuses you of not caring about your job, you have to fucking say something.
So I did. And it felt good. I already said that.
In other news, I started taking guitar lessons. I've taken many a photo with my beloved guitar, but never have I taken a lesson. Until a few weeks ago.
So far I think my teacher is kind of a wrong match for me. I wanted a gruff old man who'd whip my ass into rock star shape, but instead I got a 31-year-old dude who wears ties and likes "Stairway to Heaven." He winced when I made a face and said my brother's gig bag that I borrowed smells like weed.
Yeah. I don't know about this one. If a guitar dude makes faces at weed, then he's not a real guitarist.
I don't smoke weed. I don't like the way it makes me feel. I'm not against it, but if it's around, I just say no. It might make me sound like a dweeb, but that's just how I feel about it. I don't judge those who do it. In fact, I wish I liked weed. It looks like people really enjoy it. But my body makeup just doesn't agree with it. I get paranoid, feel out of control, feel stupid, slow. I'll stick to booze, thank you very much. At least I know what I'm getting out of that.
In other news, my good friend Liberty just had her first baby. Very good news as this is a new little being who is born to some fine people with high IQs and much talent. She and her husband are some of the most loving and genuine people I've ever known and I am happy that they put that together and produced a "mini them."
-------------------------------------------
It just occured to me that I need a vacation. I was off for 11 days during Christmas break, but I need a true, "fuck-you-boss-I'm-taking-a-vacation-no-I-don't-care-what's-going-on" vacation. One that is not mandated by religion or wintry mixes. I've given up on the fact that one of my Mexican cousins is having a summer wedding this year, so I'll have to make this vacation totally my own.
If I so choose to take this break from life as I know it, I'd choose Puebla and Cordoba, Mexico -- places that make me happy -- and stay with my family two days. I'd spend the rest of the time in a four-star hotel with my lovely Matt, and rent a car, and do it right.
Not that I haven't done it right in the past. But every time I've gone to Mexico, I've gone with my mom, and have done everything her way. And if not her way, then my aunt's way, or my uncle's way...any way but my own. I work dammit, and in recent years when I've gone, it seems like such a struggle to do things my way, even though I'm paying for it the whole time. Plus, in our eight years together, Matt and I have never taken a real vacation together.
Sure, we've traveled. We've gone to Virginia to visit his parents -- couldn't sleep together because his parents are Nazis, I mean Catholics -- , to San Marcos when we were checking out the school (which we ultimately went to and from which we graduated), to New York (recently, and just for the weekend...which was freaking awesome, by the way)... But never have we taken that VACATION. You know, the one that couples take when they have two weeks accrued at work, and they go to some silly place like Jamaica, or Italy, or a cruise to Cozumel and come back with even sillier pictures of themselves with strained, nervous faces as a stranger takes their picture or of themselves taking the cliché, off-focus, one-armed MySpace pic. I kind of want that supercilious, totally unnecessary vacation. With my man. And no moms, aunts or uncles telling us what to do.
Work bitch is far away now. She's gone. There's no Monday.
Fancy that. If only a day dream about a vacation could take your problems away like that...
Who am I?
For the record, the bitch deserved it. And I should really go about my Friday. But I still feel...dirty.
I hate confrontation. But dammit, stress levels were high and I couldn't take the accusations anymore. "Why aren't you doing this? Why didn't you do that? Why don't you care?" I'd had enough. So I defended myself. I mean, when someone accuses you of not caring about your job, you have to fucking say something.
So I did. And it felt good. I already said that.
In other news, I started taking guitar lessons. I've taken many a photo with my beloved guitar, but never have I taken a lesson. Until a few weeks ago.
So far I think my teacher is kind of a wrong match for me. I wanted a gruff old man who'd whip my ass into rock star shape, but instead I got a 31-year-old dude who wears ties and likes "Stairway to Heaven." He winced when I made a face and said my brother's gig bag that I borrowed smells like weed.
Yeah. I don't know about this one. If a guitar dude makes faces at weed, then he's not a real guitarist.
I don't smoke weed. I don't like the way it makes me feel. I'm not against it, but if it's around, I just say no. It might make me sound like a dweeb, but that's just how I feel about it. I don't judge those who do it. In fact, I wish I liked weed. It looks like people really enjoy it. But my body makeup just doesn't agree with it. I get paranoid, feel out of control, feel stupid, slow. I'll stick to booze, thank you very much. At least I know what I'm getting out of that.
In other news, my good friend Liberty just had her first baby. Very good news as this is a new little being who is born to some fine people with high IQs and much talent. She and her husband are some of the most loving and genuine people I've ever known and I am happy that they put that together and produced a "mini them."
-------------------------------------------
It just occured to me that I need a vacation. I was off for 11 days during Christmas break, but I need a true, "fuck-you-boss-I'm-taking-a-vacation-no-I-don't-care-what's-going-on" vacation. One that is not mandated by religion or wintry mixes. I've given up on the fact that one of my Mexican cousins is having a summer wedding this year, so I'll have to make this vacation totally my own.
If I so choose to take this break from life as I know it, I'd choose Puebla and Cordoba, Mexico -- places that make me happy -- and stay with my family two days. I'd spend the rest of the time in a four-star hotel with my lovely Matt, and rent a car, and do it right.
Not that I haven't done it right in the past. But every time I've gone to Mexico, I've gone with my mom, and have done everything her way. And if not her way, then my aunt's way, or my uncle's way...any way but my own. I work dammit, and in recent years when I've gone, it seems like such a struggle to do things my way, even though I'm paying for it the whole time. Plus, in our eight years together, Matt and I have never taken a real vacation together.
Sure, we've traveled. We've gone to Virginia to visit his parents -- couldn't sleep together because his parents are Nazis, I mean Catholics -- , to San Marcos when we were checking out the school (which we ultimately went to and from which we graduated), to New York (recently, and just for the weekend...which was freaking awesome, by the way)... But never have we taken that VACATION. You know, the one that couples take when they have two weeks accrued at work, and they go to some silly place like Jamaica, or Italy, or a cruise to Cozumel and come back with even sillier pictures of themselves with strained, nervous faces as a stranger takes their picture or of themselves taking the cliché, off-focus, one-armed MySpace pic. I kind of want that supercilious, totally unnecessary vacation. With my man. And no moms, aunts or uncles telling us what to do.
Work bitch is far away now. She's gone. There's no Monday.
Fancy that. If only a day dream about a vacation could take your problems away like that...
posted by deconstructionist at 6:05 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home