There's been this small thought nagging in the back of my mind the past couple days. See, I've laughed more and smiled more in the past two weeks than I have in ages. I love it down here.

But I'm so deathly afraid I'm pregnant. I love my boyfriend, I really do, but neither of us want children. And the past few days....

It's too early to tell. But I got this feeling...it's like...there's something drawing energy from me. This little alien thing in my ab region.

I really need to stop being so imaginative. And if it's true? I can tell myself I told you so.

Let The Good Times Roll....Sorta

Endless blue skies...lots of trees...mostly nice people...

I'm "home" now in the great ol' state of Alabama. And I'm feeling rather weird about the entire thing. I mean, yes, I don't want to move back to California, or move to New York, or any of those things....the entire thing just feels weird to me. I love my boy, I really do, I just...have never done this before. The entire thing is kinda....weird. As I have already said.

I dunno. What if I'm not meant to live in a nature-y place? Guess I'd pack my bags and go....again....

Bleh. Why can't life be simple?

Holy Fucking Christ On a Stick

WARNING: This post really doesn't give a shit about social rules about what is polite and what is not. So cursing, talking about nasty things, etc, will most definitely occur, or I'll send you cookies.

So it's the tail end of my period, so I was tossing the pad into the dainty little box they always have attached to the wall of the bathroom stall, and I opened the top, and a plethora of colors greeted my eyes. It was like all those companies are trying to make periods 'trendy' and 'fun'. Hey, periods are fun! They're like a fiesta! I mean, look at the bright colors! I'm waiting for the day a commercial says this:

Periods--Fiestas in Your Pants!

*Please note, periods are not fiestas in the pants. Sex, now that is a fiesta in the pants. Not periods. Though I really don't have room to talk, because my periods are actually easy going other than killer cramps. You know, the kind that make you want to curl into a fetal position and whimper until the Bad Thing goes away? Yeah, those kinds.


And I just had something hit me. At the end of the week, I'll officially be a pastry chef. Of course I don't have the experience I need to be a full fledged on, but I got the learning and the fancy piece of paper saying I am.

....holy fucking shit, I'm a chef. Christ on a stick.

Someone give me a tub of ice cream and a spoon. This calls for comfort food, and celebration food, all at once.

More Whining! Wheeee.

With the end of NaNoWriMo, and with nothing to distract me, my dislike of NYC has returned with a vengeance.

Oh, by the way, I won NaNoWriMo for the first time! Whooo! And I've already started in on the sequel. Well, one of them....I have some notes for a sequel far in the future, and a small scene from it already written. The actual follow up sequel directly following (time line wise) the story already written hasn't even begun to form in my head, so I'm messing around with other story ideas in the meantime. But I feel kinda bad while working on my sequels, given I haven't even finished the first story (not quite long enough to qualify for novel length). I need to edit and fill in some scenes I skipped and definitely fix awful writing sections. The awful writing section fixing actually won't happen for weeks, if not months, given that I need space to see what is really awful, and what is just me being nitpicky.

Anywho.

I'm tired, I've worked too much, I'm developing nerve damage in my hands, my friends are weirdos and slightly self-centered, and I'm still stuck at this bloody hostel til Sunday.

On the bright side, I get nearly two months of vacation. Which I desperately need, and quite honestly very much deserve. Even though Erik keeps bitching about not getting to see me for a month. Guess I shouldn't mention to him how hard giving up California is going to be for me. I know why people live there, despite the down sides. Oh well. Tis life. Either this new adventure will work out, or it won't.

I'm at this one hostel...and there was this guy that I really wasn't comfortable around just sitting near. Bad vibes, you know? Well, my suspicions were confirmed when he started talking to me...when I was obviously listening to music and writing. That is so beyond rude. And he kept saying "Well I'll let you get back to writing" and then would ask something or say something that politeness demanded a response, and I'd respond, and he'd see it as an invitation to keep talking to me. Um, no. And then when saying goodnight, he wouldn't let go of my hand, no matter how hard I tugged. Ick.

So that wasn't too bad. I without thinking gave him my email and phone number, which is fine, I can easily get him blocked if he does unkosher things. Not a problem. But then I was obviously listening to music another night, and he came by and started talking to me. And I tried to ignore him, but he wouldn't shut up, so I finally took out my headphones and looked at him and said "What?" and he repeated himself. Instead of apologizing and walking off.

And he wanted to talk to me about typing up this book he wrote, he would pay me, it would help him out, and since I can obviously type kinda fast because I wrote 50k in one month....would I help him out?

I said I'd think about it. I'd tell him tomorrow. Well, I was busy and didn't see him. Then the second day I saw him, but I didn't want to talk to him, so I avoided him with ease. Third day, I was walking downstairs to eat dinner, and he was going out (given the time of night and how they were walking and talking, to a bar), and he stopped me, and pulled me off to the side (well, tried, I kinda stood there and looked impatient), and asked me if I had gotten his email.

No, I hadn't.

Well, he wanted to know if I had considered his 'proposal'.

I had, but I was too busy.

This is where I get pissed off. He looks at me all faux disappointed and says my name, like a scolding parent. He would pay me. Like that would change my mind.

Money isn't the issue. The issue is I'm busy and I have to take care of my own things.

He's disappointed. He looks over at his friend and smirks. He obviously thinks I'm just being pissy. He'll change my mind. He'll learn.

Sorry, wish I could help but...I walk away. I figure that is the end of the matter. How naive.

Next day, I am down again, cooking dinner. He tries to call out my name, but I ignore him and call my boyfriend. I am on the phone, and he walks up and tries to talk to me. Hello? On the phone.

I have the manuscript and he starts to pull it out.

I look at him, angry. No. Just flat out. No apology. Probably just thinks I'm PMSing. I don't care. I turn away and continue my dinner preparations and continue my conversation. Now, matter is done. I assume. Also, if it's printed out, why doesn't he have a copy on his computer? I think it's dumb. If he wants his damn book published, he can type it up himself, rather than sitting around flirting with girls and going out with boys. He has the time. Trust me. If I can write a 61 thousand word novel in less than 20 days, and be working 50+ hours a week, he can type up a book he already has printed out.