I know it doesn’t make sense.  But it’s true.

Amy + Baby Shower = Terrible Experience.  It’s a formula, it never fails.

Let me share with you my humiliation.  Would you like to hear? I thought you might.

Baby Shower #1 :

On a nice summer day, like any other day, I logged onto my facebook and shortly discovered that my best friend from high school was with child and wanted me to come to her baby shower.  “Oh how lovely,” I thought.  “How perfect it will be to see all of my old friends from high school!” No, that’s a lie.  It was more like this, “Noooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!!!!” So I called my friend Ally and begged her to come with me.  It didn’t take much begging, since Ally loves a good baby shower, or at least a glimpse into the lives of high school has beens.  And so we went.  The shower took place at the surrey hills neighborhood pool, a place where I spent a good chunk of my high school summers.  We very awkwardly arrived and attempted to mingle with old faces…

me: “Hello there! Haven’t seen you in a while…. er.. I brought these diapers!  Did you know that Selma Hayek saves a baby everytime you buy these diapers?…. I just love those commercials!”

person i barely talked to in high school: “cool.” (walks away)

So, it got off to a bad start.  I gave it a few more tries though and talked to a couple of people that I actually had more than 4 conversations with… but of course, it was so painfully awkward. I tried to help out (because nothing beats awkward tension like hanging up streamers), but I was denied.   Soon, I discovered the theme of the party.  The punch on the table was not regular baby shower punch, it was trash can punch.  And sitting next to the punch was a big batch of jello shots, and a plate of falafel (this is what happens when you let 21 year olds throw baby showers).  So, I grabbed Ally, a few jello shots, some falafel, and a glass of trash can punch, and headed over to the corner to quietly lurk.

The corner was good at first.  I inhaled everything and the words started coming out more freely.  But it didn’t really work, it was a lie.  For the first time, alcohol did not cure my awkwardness.  So, I decided to get some more punch. I went away from my corner to fill my cup and of course…. I spilled red trash can punch all over myself.. and a few baby gifts..

The rest of the shower was a blur.  I wanted to leave and then die, or jump in the pool and scream underwater, then die.  She opened her baby gifts.. her red, trash can punch ruined baby gifts. I cringed, but sat there and watched. I oh so painfully sat there and watched, with a front row seat I might add.  Finally, after all of her gifts were opened, it was my perfect chance to escape.  I wished her farewell and ran.  I ran away from that high school reunion, and vowed to never, ever go back.

Oh what a memory.  I will write the other one later.  I need to go hide in my bed now.

Looking back on my nine posts, this is obvious.  But alas! I will embrace it.

Anyway,

Today has been wonderful.  The break has been wonderful.  I have been wonderful.

Here is what I have done in the past five hours:

• layed in my bed
• sat in my bed
• wore pajamas with zebras on them
• read every blog on my google reader
• watched george bush’s faretheewell press conference
• watched the media ridicule george bush’s press conference
• watched an E! true hollywood story on angelina jolie
• doodled in a notebook
• began painting a wooden napkin holder with mushrooms on it
• ate a chicken salad sandwich
• drank excessive amounts of delicious caffeine

Number of items completed on my todo list: 0.5

Good.

I think I may start bloggin it up more.  I have nothing to do with myself other than work for the next 3 weeks.  Una sensacion muy extrana….

Out.

Lost and wandering without a cause.

I’m hot and I’m cold

I’ve been searching for you for years now,

when will I find you,

Will I ever find you?

I don’t want to be insatiable.

This is not who I am.

This is not who I say I am.

Please go away.

sigh…………………  I’ll change the subject, so as not to seem too terribly pathetic and turdlike.  It should be noted here that I’ve suddently become a fan of the word “turd”, classic. 

As the summer carries on, my priorities continue to slip farther and farther away, while the days fade into one massive day that never seems to end.  Everyday, I drag my sluggish, languid self out of bed and into the office to show off my effusive talents of staring into nothingness and going to get coffee at the Student Union.  My boss continues to think I am invaluable in spite of this, but unfortunately I’m beginning to think this may be the result of an alcohol problem, rather than my prodigious contributions.  He often comes back from lunch a giggling fool who either reeks of alcohol, or I catch him gargling listerine in his office and spitting it into the trashcan.  I’ve conspired with another professor in the department, whom he frequently goes to lunch with, in order to keep the consumed alcoholic beverages to a minimum (it’s difficult to discuss factor analysis with someone who finds every thought in his head to be downright hysterical).  Yet, unfortunately this plan doesn’t seem to be working.  Just the other day, I went into his office to ask him something upon his return from lunch, and I found him sipping on some glassware that looked as if it belonged in the medieval ages.  I could smell a definite alcoholic aroma and asked him if he was drinking wine.  He smugly replied with a “no,”  which caused me to then inquire as to what he was drinking if it wasn’t wine.  “Brandy,” he replied.  But of course, brandy at one o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, how typical.  I suppose I shouldn’t blame the alcohol too whole-heartedly.  After all, it seems to think I am invaluable.

All day long, it’s just a continuous hassling of my mind.  My thoughts are constantly taunting me, like a bully picking on a little kid.  “You shouldn’t say what you think, you’re shy.  What if they don’t understand you?  What if you forget what you were going to say in the middle of it?  What if they think that’s a stupid idea?  You’re better off just not talking.”  And I listen to it.  I put up with it.  I let the thoughts take over and consume me, and I turn into the little kid cowering in the broom closet.  I can’t just let myself be, I have to ask my ego first, to make sure my actions are okay, and if I forget to ask, I have to meticulously analyze that action.  “Did I look awkward when I smiled at that person?  Did they think I was weird?”

Not only do I analyze my own actions, I have to analyze the actions of everyone around me as well.  “Why did she look at me like that?  I probably have something in my teeth.  Why didn’t they invite me to go out to eat with them?  They must think I’m dull.”  My ego thinks that the entire world is out to get me, and I can’t seem to convince her differently.

I don’t know how to just be, and it kills me.  I can’t give up on the stories I tell myself.  If I do, then I won’t know who I am.  I won’t know who other people are.  I’ll be completely lost.  What am I saying? I’m already completely lost.

God, please consider this a formal request.  I don’t know what to do with myself anymore.

You are so goddamn loud.

You are driving me insane.

I can’t believe I’m back here again.

Three years ago I was completely sure of myself.  I wasn’t always happy, but I knew who I was.

I’ve actually become jealous of the me that existed three years ago. I never would have guessed that I’d miss my completely naive and ridiculous 18 year old self, but it’s true.  I had more confidence and gumption at 18 than I could even imagine having now.  I stood up for myself and my beliefs, and honestly didn’t care what people thought about it.  Now I just keep quiet to keep everyone happy.  When did I turn into such a people pleaser?

Why would I think that my ideas aren’t worth mentioning?  Why am I so against any form of conflict, and why can’t I be myself around anyone that I haven’t known before 2006?

Who are you Amy Blose?  I don’t even recognize you anymore.

Sometimes I think that the only reason I stay at my job is to listen to the crazy customers.

They love to tell me about their lives, ideas, hopes, and dreams, and I love to hear about them. There are so many weird ones, I don’t even know where to start.

There’s Betty, the Jesus loving conservative, with a strong affinity for cheez-its. She comes in at least twice every week (one time she came in five days in a row, I counted) to wash the same damn comforters, which I swear are not really dirty. She always has something new to preach about, and likes to tell me her conspiracy theories against the “evil democratic party.” She has no idea that I am actually a democrat, and I honestly have no intentions of ever telling her.

Then there’s Abraham and Ganolo, the illegal immigrants (I’m almost positive of this), who like to speak to me in Spanish. Abraham can actually speak english very well, but I think he just likes to giggle on the inside over my terrible conversation skills. Ganolo, on the other hand, speaks terrible english, and has given me his phone number on several occasions in hopes that I will teach him. However, it’s also possible that he has ulterior motives for this, due to the fact that he showers me with compliments every time I see him (“you are very, very beautiful. You have boyfriend?).

Then there’s Jerry, the old bachelor who likes to talk to me about how much money he has, and how he loves sports. I can’t help but wonder why he’s doing his laundry at a laundromat if he has so much money…but what do I know.

And of course, how could I forget William and Teresa, the world’s greatest couple. They’ll talk to anyone in the store who will listen about their jobs, their cat, or one of the many new t-shirts they’ve bought. They get into loud, crazy fights for everyone to see over the silliest things, but always manage to work things out by the time their clothes are done. And somehow, they know the name of every employee at Duds n Suds, before they even meet them (I still don’t understand how they know my name), and will try to help out by yelling at you when your clothes are finished in the dryers. Duds n Suds would not be the same without them.

These are only a few of the many customers I have come to know on a personal level. And who knows why, maybe there’s something in the air that makes people feel like talking, or the fountain drink machine is spiked. Whatever it is, there’s just something quite intimate about sharing a conversation with someone while their clothes are humming away in the dryers.

And for this, I stick it out.

I’ve got blogger’s block.  I’ve been sitting around for days now, trying to come up with something fabulous, but the words just don’t seem to want to come out.

I must prove to the world that I’m fabulous.

I must!

Amy Out