Two in the Pink

I’ve had quite an unentertaining weekend.  Let’s recap, shall we?

Friday night, I met with artist boy at a little dive called the Yukon Tavern.  As I mentioned before, he and I have been chatting on MySpace since I moved here.  He contacted me simply because I listed art as an interest on my page.  He has some really outstanding work, and he does several shows in the area.  He knew I was attached from the beginning, and he never so much as made an inappropriate comment.  In fact, it wasn’t until he invited me and "my boyfriend" to Noc Moc, a local art show, next weekend, that he learned that I’m newly single.  Even since, he hasn’t so much as tried to hit on me.  Thank god.

He had sent me a picture a couple of days prior to our meeting.  He only has photos of his artwork on MySpace, and I needed to know who I was looking for when I arrived at the bar.  I knew immediately that there was no attraction whatsoever, but I was not prepared to meet a cowboy boot wearing redneck.  Not to mention, the tavern itself was quite possibly the most horrid place I’d ever spent two hours of my life.  Don’t get me wrong.  I really enjoyed whooping some ass in about twenty games of pool (I only lost one), but I felt like I needed a shower when I returned home.  Greasy, down-home, southern cooking; a jukebox blaring Brooks & Dunn; and about half the crowd was missing a few teeth.  I felt like I was right back home in Arkansas again.

He and a couple of his friends were on their way to a comedy show.  They had some extra tickets and invited me to tag along, but I gracefully declined.  I, instead, headed downtown to 15C, the fantastic martini bar that my coworkers treated me to for my birthday.  The place was packed.  I ordered a drink from the bar, and I ended up standing there for about half an hour hoping that a seat might come available.  One didn’t.  Since I couldn’t even maneuver my way around to the single guys sitting on the other end, I called it a night.  Besides, I was wearing those new, patent red stilettos, and they might just be the most uncomfortable shoes I have ever purchased.  I finished off a smoke, paid for my $12 martini, and headed home.

It was early, so I changed into pajamas and spent the remainer of the night watching cartoons.  I think I finally got in the bed around 4am.  Saturday was spent entertaining myself with the Xbox.  With the exception of a two hour break to grill some burgers and eat, I played video games from the time I woke up until the time I went to bed.  Productive, no?  I’ve occupied most of today grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning my apartment, and chatting up friends.  Sometimes, my life is so exciting.  Sometimes, it’s so… not.

In other news, I did get a final answer on the trip to Iraq.  I will be leaving mid-April.  Though I’ll still have bills to account for here, I won’t have to pay for food, lodging, or medical in Iraq.  Also, I obviously won’t be putting gas in my car.  I’m going to be in fantastic shape financially when I return.  I can’t even begin to describe how that feels.  I’ve reread some of my entries from just a year and half ago, and I wonder sometimes how I even survived.  When David left for Pennsylvania, I was flat broke.  My brother paid for me to move to Georgia, calling it my graduation gift.  I never even paid the last month’s rent on the house I was living in.  I just left.  I already make well enough money now to live comfortably with a little left over.  However, I pay more for revolving credit right now than I do for my car each month.  The thought of paying off my damn credit cards leaves me ecstatic.  Needless to say, I’ll be house hunting when I return.

Several people have asked what exactly I’ll be doing overseas.  Basically, my company’s software is being used in battle zone.  I’ll be supporting and upgrading the product and training users.  I’ll also be doing much of the same as I do here, which is additional development.  Our product has many uses, but most importantly, it’s saved many lives.  I feel fortunate to be a part of that.  I’ll be helping to save lives.

I’ll leave you with this funny little tidbit.  My mom called earlier to chat about nothing important — my brother’s birthday, my grandmother’s reaction to me leaving for Iraq, a recipe she’d like me to send.  We were talking about a recent Slayer concert that my brother attended.  Upon recapping the night for her, he forgot to mention the part about getting punched by an angry mosher, returning said angry mosher’s punch, and getting thrown out of the club.  Keep in mind that my brother is not exactly someone that you would look at and think, "He’s a hardcore metal fan!"  He’s a 32-year-old, business suit-clad software engineer/manager, and he has never, as far as I know, been in a fight in his life.

Anyway, I spilled the beans on the real reason Rob was sore from the night, and she retorted that there’s something else she has been wondering about.  She’s recently downloaded various pictures from both Rob’s and my websites, and there are several photos in which he and I are both "throwing some sort of hand sign."  Apparently, she had asked Rob what it meant, but he refused an answer.  He told her to call me.  Gee, thanks.  I giggled because without even asking, I knew exactly what she talking about.  I asked her to describe it anyway, because there was no point in embarrassing both of us unnecessarily.  Of course, she described "The Shocker".

"Okay, mom.  Let me just put it this way.  It’s sexually obscene.  Does that help you figure it out?"

She still didn’t get it.

After a long sigh, "Alright, I’m only going to say this once.  Listen well, and if you can’t figure it out after this, then I can’t help you.  Two in the pink.  One in the stink."

I don’t think I’ve ever heard my mom laugh as long and as hard as she did this evening.  I literally sat there and listened to her incessant laughter for fifteen minutes.  In fact, she eventually just had to get off the phone.  She couldn’t even finish our conversation.  Good times.

Cheers,
Felina