It's Like I'm Made Of Magic

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     . . . . . . . . . . . . . what?

     Dun-nuh neewt needlely-eeeewt nuhn nuhn DUNH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

     All kinds of guitar solos for me today, because last night was the first night since I've begun living alone that I was able to fall asleep without the aid of a portable dvd player and some version of Adult Swim programming.  Last night there were no rapists in my hall closet.  There was no one waiting to awaken me with a knife to the face.  No one to creep undetected into my bedroom and stand against the wall to stare at me until I woke up, to then torture me with a scaulpul and threats of dismemberment.  I fell asleep in complete darkness and silence last night. 

     I've been afraid of the dark since my older sister, Melanie, went to college and left me without the 3-inch strip of light that could be seen over the door between her bedroom and mine after neglecting to douse said light night after night.  Her neglect served my room with an unitentional nightlight that I had thought to be unnecessary.  When she left, and her light stayed off, I became terrified of what I couldn't see, and astonished by just how dark a room could actually get.  Since then it's been nightlights, television, or a boyfriend's presence aiding me in falling asleep at night. 

     BUT NOT LAST NIGHT!  Sure there have been nights when a television in another room has been just enough activity to make my feel less vaunerable to rando criminals, or I've had just enough to drink that I barely know that I'm in my room, let alone that some disgruntled factory worker is going to debut his torture spree in my apartment.  But last night I was awake enough to have a few minutes to think about what could possibly happen to me when left to the dogs on a chilly August night with nothing but a cell phone and junk mail to protect me, and all I really thought about was the prospect of moving to Mass with the boy, and how stoked I was to have cleaned the whole apartment in just under and hour.  Sleep came easy.

     There is a chance that this might be the foundation for a brand new way of life for me.  I mean, I'm not sure I'm ready for a dark forest camping weekend, table for one, just yet however, I am feeling an extra ounce or two of confidence and there's promise.

     And if not, there's always special features.

     I was reminded this morning of the sweet, sweet hunk of freedom that used to grace my parent's driveway about four years ago:

      I really started to miss it again.

      Maybe next spring.

     This weekend all the UVM students came back, and it makes me want to move away. I didn't see a bright yellow Hummer all summer, and then BAM!  I saw three on saturday.  If it wasn't for all the hilarious mess I overhear once they hit the town, I'd leave right now. 

     - "So, where's the nearest ALT-ROCK club?"

    - "Dude, it doesn't matter about her. Whatever it's gonna take to get a Coors Light in you S.T.A.T."

    - "Forget this.  Let's go back and watch that hot areobics class." (The FLYNN Dance Company has a window that faces the street.  It wasn't areobics.  It was ballet.)

     I always get so worked up this time of year.  Vermont is so awesome in the autumn, and these scumbags have to come out of their tanning booths and mess it all up.  I think i'll try to co-exist by staying in my house for the next 8 months.

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     I got to hang out and shop with my mom this weekend.  I wish my parents lived closer.  I always want to hang out with them.

     So, the job that I had applied for a few weeks ago is open again, and while I'm not the type of girl to hang around after being rejected, widening my smile and cranking the charm to eleven, I think I'll take another shot at it.  It would mean a lot to me to have a permanent position somewhere.  We'll see what happens.

     "Kendra, meet Mariah Carrey's IMDB profile.   Mariah Carey's IMDB profile, this is Kendra."

     I don't know what happened.  I mean, I went into this Mater Cleanse thing totally informed and ready for every possible reaction, but around 2 o'clock pm, I was positively ravenous.  Eh.  What can you do?

     Chad's been getting a lot of work lately, and it's keeping him in Boston for weeks at a time.  It kinda sucks 'cause I miss him and everything, but mostly because when he's home he cleans the house while I'm at work.  It's messy again, due to the fact that my only real talents involve eating food and wearing clothes, but I'm doing a better job detering it from advancing to "Lindsay Lohan hotel room" status.  I really do miss him, though . . .

      Martha's in town tonight, so I'll either be at the bar tonight, or at the diner tomorrow morning.  Either way, there'll be kitsch.

     I started the Master Cleanse this morning.  I'm not even kidding.  It's either going to be phenomanally righteous, or more awful than Mariah Carey's IMDB profile. 

      Oh, man . . .

     So, this is a terrific thing to do instead of whatever job-related projects that you're contractually obligated to.

     The printer that I conduct most of my workiness on is currently out of commision, which cuts an already lacking workload by about two-thirds.  I've spent most of today creating my own cross stitch patterns and googling Jeremy Miller.  Turns out, he and I are about the same amount of busy.

     After work, I'm going to go downtown and rub up against copies of Moonlighting season 3.  Also, I'm going to drink coffee from establishments that refuse to recognize the fair trade agreement, and I'm going to pass judgement on kids so young, they don't dress themsleves.

     "Oh, who is she kidding mixing Oshkosh and Garanimals?  Like no one would notice?"

     As far as I'm concerned, any party that gets a better response than Kevin Federline's Teen Choice Awards performance is a success.  Sure, a craft party is a totally different outlet with which one would express themselves creatively, however, there were lots of similarities.  For example, there was bottled water at both events, size 1T jammies were duely represented, and I did hire two 11-year-olds to start off the night by drrrropping the beat.  It's uncanny.

     I'm going to have more parties.  Maybe a "Come As Your Favourite Junkie Supermodel" night, or a themed "Traffic Violiation" night, complete with wrecked-car installation art, paper Haley Joel Osmet masks,  and plenty of Grey Goose. 

     Oh! And with little breathalizer print-outs for invitations . . .

     So, I've just spent the past hour-and-a-half trying to figure out what I'd have to do to become a "Scientology Handler To The Stars", and I got nothin'.  How awesome would it be to hang out at a record store with Jason Lee, and the second he picks up that Slayer LP, you give him a perfected disapproving stare and quietly remind him about whichever of the 8 "dynamics" he's teetering on the edge of?  Or to pep up a hungry Kirsty Alley, down on herself for not making it to her coveted "televised bikini appearance" weight, by reminding her that she is an immortal, spiritual person.

     "Hey, Kirsti.  C'mon!  You're a terrific thetan.  Now let's get you back up to a 4.0 and we'll run an E meter when we get home, just to be sure you're feeling up to an auditing.  Atta girl!"

     Any religion with this image in it's description is beyond acceptable.

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     The past couple of days, I've just been "bro-ing down" with friends.  Trevor came up from Boston, and that was so rad.  Coffee with Sara and Kier was stellar as always.  Shopped a bit, which I shouldn't be allowed to do because I suck at it.  I raided The Possibilites Shop for some sweet crafting bits and left with quite the haul.  I'm stoked to start getting ready for the craft party this sunday.  I hope a lot of people come because I'd like to make it a regular thing.

     The house is still a dump.  I'm never there and I don't do anything but stitch and watch tv shows when I am home, so how in the world does it get so messy?  It's just dishes and laundry, but it still makes me crazier than a Marissa Cooper melt down (R.I.P).

      All right, today I actually have a lot of work to do.  No, really.