A Remake with a Budget

I tried to blog on a new site.  A more professional looking, upgraded site with lots of famous writers who blog there.  A site with lots of blogs about the current events and our economic state.  It felt forced and unnatural.  No one left me comments and I felt small there.  I had to come back to this site.  I’ve blogged here for so long, anything else is just an experiment.  It’s like a new relationship after you’ve been with your high school love for so long, it’s just not the same.  Oddly enough, this particular diary is comfortable to me.  Like my black couch throw that I use for a blanket. 

I’m staying home today.  I’m drinking cheap beer and eating a Totino’s frozen pizza for lunch.  I’m sitting outside on my patio, taking long drags off a cigarette and feeling damp in the sweltering heat.  Eh, Phoenix in the summer, not as appealing as it once was.  I try to make a collage but I feel stifled.  I watch The Beach and miss my cable.

Yesterday I worked even though it was Saturday.  I was supposed to go the bosses pool party and drink free beer and mingle with the higher ups after.  Normally I blow off work events, I spend the night looking stuff up on Wikipedia or writing nonsense to look over.  I decided I should go though, stop my antisocial ways and make an effort to learn what kinds of people work for the company.  The boyfriend has to work and I’m glad.  I didn’t want to bring him along, introduce him to people I barely knew and coddle his good time for the event.  Yet a few days prior I tell him about it and say, rather unthinkingly, "too bad you can’t go."

He is impulsive and wrong minded sometimes.  He gets the Saturday off and sends me a text message, "hey I got the day off, now I can go with you to your pool party."  I say something like,

cool.

I RSVP him and my senior editor tells me that no one else is bringing anyone after I express concerns about bringing him along.  Fuck.

On Saturday my office mate and I send each other sketches from the Whitest Kids U Know and obscure band videos on Youtube.  We argue about what it means to be a method actor.  I give the IT guy a ride to work and when he gets in my car his hair is still wet from his shower.  The party is far, way in North Scottsdale.  I chat my senior editor and tell her

hey, somethings come up and I can’t make it to the party today.

I text the boyfriend and tell him we’ll blow off the party, grill some steaks at home and talk about the short we want to shoot.  I ask him if we can not fight, and if he can not take it personally.  He says

Okay

I leave early without saying goodbye to the people I normally say goodbye to.  We do fight, on and off, all day.  We fuck on the couch, I come twice, my legs get sore.  He overcooks the steaks and I fall asleep during Evil Dead 2.  He tells me it’s not really a sequal, it’s a remake with a budget.  I eat and drink too much.

Today, I wake up.  I count the beers in the fridge and walk Gordon.  He poops three times and the air is cool because it’s early.  I forget my cigarettes are in the boyfriend’s car so I steal my roommate’s Camels.  I sit out in my yard and watch Gordon roll in the grass.  The air starts to get warmer and I take deep breaths, feel the heat of the sun on my body.  I feel strained, confused and my hair needs to be washed.