Tangents & The Times

[Editor's note: OH COME ON!!! WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN THE LAST MONTH?! Sigh. Check out the beginning of this saga right hurrr.]

It was a cold winter’s night on Tuesday.
Really, I was freezing my ass off.
Wind blowing like crazy and shit.
I was in my room, trying to finish my resume through the tears,
chugging wine, anxiously watching the clock as December twenty second snuck away,
knowing good & well that if I didn’t see Dudefriend that night,
I wouldn’t see him again…

Until maybe the thirtieth when he gets back from the Midwest but uh, hello, that’s the night before New Year’s Eve and I needed to seal this deal before then. I haven’t kissed anyone for the New Year in like five years. That is a long freaking time and I’m starting to feel like a loser. Seriously. Last year, I was even kinda dating someone- still didn’t get a kiss. Year before that, I had a bitchin’ party & still, no kisses but then again I was kinda inbetween dudes then & like, it was all my guy pals over & it’s not like they were ever going to finally admit that this whole time during our friendship they’d wanted to bang me… if any of them had wanted to bang me which I mean, maybe they didn’t since I haven’t been banged by a guy pal yet and now the time has kinda passed so we can just file that away in history’s mysteries.

THE POINT IS I REALLY NEEDED TO GET THIS RESUME FINISHED
& WIN DUDEFRIEND BACK ASAP.

Which at that point was really seeming impossible.
First of all, who the fuck tries to win someone back on the whim of some off-hand ridiculous remark
& secondly, uh, do you know how hard it is to drum up respectable references?

Well, let’s see here, I’ve got a couple dozen hobo artisan derelicts that could probably say something relatively nice about me- you know, I can drink a lot and like good music, I respond well to being treated badly and am good at faking I’m enjoying mediocre sex. But then again they’d probably also add I talk too much and whatever other things they didn’t like about me- which I never knew nor can really see now. Like honestly, I’m looking back thinking about how stupid those guys were for not wanting me to be their GF. I’m cute, I’m funny… well, you guys know.
But they’re assholes so I didn’t even want Dudefriend knowing I’d be with fraternizing with a bunch of smelly hipster chumps in shitty bands with too short & tight of shirts (what is up with dudes in shitty bands shopping at Brass Plum for their “ironic” tees?) that do I don’t even know what for an actual living. It’s just embarrassing.

And then I couldn’t very well add the not smelly hipsters in good bands.
I don’t want to look like a groupie or something cause that’s just as bad as admitting you actually were kinda heart broken by the dude that performs weeknight acoustic sets at sushi joints.
Not that that ever happened…

I had one actual boyfriend but I’d never put him as a reference.
His whole crazy issue I think would nullify any arguments he had for or against me.

So that leaves basically one guy.
I have one dude that I “dated” for a couple months that was actually decent. He was pretty great actually- treated me great, had great taste, had a great job. But anyway, he had soooo many nice things to say about me when he dumped me so I don’t see why he wouldn’t relay all that to Dudefriend if need be.

And on Tuesday, I’m sitting there, with my ONE reference put down.
Cursing myself for starting this ridiculous crusade.
And then, there was a rapping at the door I mistook for the wind.
But then I realized it was a knock.
Frightened, seeing as I wasn’t expecting anyone and Zissou was at my mom’s house,
I timidly answered the door, throwing back the last of my glass in anticipation of a rapist
and
IT WAS DUDEFRIEND !!!!!!!!

He grabbed me and kissed me and said,
“Tiger, your resume has been great, I don’t need even need any references.”
AND THEN HE KISSED ME
AGAIN.
Then he swept me off my feet and I nabbed his presents and he took me to his house where we ate my favorite dinner, risotto he spent like two hours stirring because he loves me so much and he looked so handsome and then we opened presents under his glorious tree and he got me NOT ONLY THAT AMAZING SELECTRIC I’VE BEEN WANTING FOR LIKE EVER BUT COULD NEVER FIND A WORKING ONE (& IT WORKS OMG HE LOVESS MEEEE) BUT HE GOT ME A NEW RECORD PLAYER!!!

You guys, like, this is for real I think!
We’re never kinda breaking up again!
Especially because he about peed his pants because I got him the same Persols as Jay-Z.

Still need photoshop on the lap top but we'll worry about that later.

I’m not normally a mush pot but ugh, I mean, it was so special.
This is the first time I feel like IN LOVE.
Couldn’t keep my hands to myself for a minute!
I was like fingerblasting the shit outta that typewriter
ALL NIGHT LONG.

[Editor's Note: If you don't know what "resume" I'm talking about, scroll your ass down & get knowledged, you lollygagger. You're probably the same dude abusing the right lane in rush hour. GET WITH IT BRO.]

Alright sooooo,
when I started this whole resume thing, I really didn’t think it through.
As with most things I was like,
“ZOMG great idea… ZOMG kittehz… ZOMG I gotta pee…”
But eventually on your resume,
you need to state your level of experience.
Or how many ‘jobs’ you’ve had.
What does that mean for me?
How many ‘jobs’ I’ve given?
Which, I’m going to level with you and just say straight up:
Handjobs are a waste of time.
So, I really don’t have any ‘jobs’ to list.

Unless we just move straight to ‘talents’…
OHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH !!!

[Editor's Note: Late comers, get up to speed with the Resume Part One.]

Objective.
A “goal” if you will.
Hm.
Well, what is my goal anyway?

My first thought is, “OH SHIT… MARRIAGE?!?!?!” but that’s not it.
That’s WE TV commercials trying to ruin my life.
I mean, I guess it kinda is in some round about way because I really, really DO NOT want to be middle aged and dating. Have you seen middle aged men? I’m not talking George Clooney, I’m talking real life middle aged men. The kind that would find a way to hit on me at the local chain super market sort of middle aged man. Yeah, they wear cargo shorts and neon striped Saunconys (-ies? What is the plural for ugly running shoes?) and want to take me out to Black Angus. I just can’t see myself wanting to rip off that JC Penny sweater in a fit of passion, you know? I used to be all sorts of anti-marriage until I watched Year of the Dog & was like “Holy shit, this is me in twenty years, trying to date the rando dudes from the dog park because that’s all I have, my dog and my obsession with my dog.”

Oh, it's a Swatch. Yeah, I saw those were on sale at Kohls as well...

Yeahhhh, nothnxkbye.

My second thought is I really don’t know. I’ve just been living by the seat of my baggy ass twelve dollar pants since moving to Los Angeles. It’s landed me in some pretty awesome places but for all the movie stars and indie musicians, it’s been nice to put the flask down and feel something that is more than a drunken whim or a silly girl’s idealization of a dim situation because they all end the same: with a Blackberry entry that reads DO NOT PICK UP (&/or DO NOT DRUNKENLY TEXT cause that shit suuuuuucks). And it gets old after a while. You can only drink so many $2.50 margaritas on Wednesdays before you realize you’re just a lonely broad with an empty house and a pocket full of Adderall. THERE MUST BE MORE TO LIFE THAN ATTENTION FROM UGLY DUDES IN FAKE LEATHER & CHEAP MONDAYS PRETENDING TO LISTEN TO YOU TALK ABOUT ACID AT HAPPY HOUR !!!

So, I guess that’s my objective.
The “more” part.
Like a guy who can stand me for more than three “dates”. You know, long enough for the sex to not be awkward and we can actually talk to one another sober about something other than our mutual friends/Animal Collective. That’s always pretty cool. This same guy, who has a great job that doesn’t revolve around gigs, is wayyy more sensible than me (duh I’m a woman) yet somehow finds my meticulously-rolled-out-of-a-dumpster look attractive, thinks my nearly bipolar personality swings are endearing (psh how could you not find someone who trades off between acting like Kenny Powers and a wide-eyed twitterpated squirrel NOT irresistible?!) and is totally cool with me already four fifths in the bag by the time he picks me for dinner at eight. Oh & doesn’t give me too much shit but you know, just enough shit, for falling asleep in movies in bed. Because it is going to happen. I lead a high octane life style, sometimes I gotta smoke a bowl and reboot for twenty minutes (or twelve hours, whatever).

So, basically, Dudefriend.
To a tee.
SIGH.

& then I will, of course, be the uncharacteristically charming & comedic girlfriend to love him to death & do his laundry forever & kiss him incessantly to the point of irritation & stare at his handsome face with sheer admiration & sexual prowess.
Which if all goes as planned, we will get to my ultimate objective:
to be a POWER COUPLE.
Me being me & him supporting me being me while also maintaining a full-time business job without losing sight of his art, which in all actuality will probably be superior to mine (is blogging considered an art yet?) but he’ll never rub it in my face and he’ll say things like, “Yeah, sweetie, I totally LOL’d” when really, it was just a bunch of booze blather and some lame reference to Chris Brown and together we shall rise to the top and bellow out big MUAHAHAHAHAHAZ all over the world (ideally from his condo in Tahiti but I mean, it’s cool, one step at a time, right? Evil laughs first then tropical bungalows).

Shit, this doesn’t sound that much different than what I was doing.
& look where it got me…

Oh, well.
I know he hasn’t read any of this anyway so whatever I’ll just email him my resume when it’s done and when he gets it the objective is going to look like this:

I mean, it’s basically true.
Besides, doesn’t everyone fluff up their resumes?

So, Dudefriend was apparently NOT stoked on my post with the bag on his head…

Dudefriend: i’m reading it now
Me: its not really that bad
Me: you know i only have luffz for you
Me: & keeeeeeeeiiiisssssses
Dudefriend: luffz ruining my life on the internet
Dudefriend: like I’M the one with issues
[Approximately seven minutes pass]
Me: are you really mad?
Dudefriend: well, i’m really going to have to reassess our relationship and your continued work with [insert my company].
Me: i didn’t do it to hurt you, just to lol.
Dudefriend: well…
Me: BUT I LUFF YOU !
Dudefriend: do you…
Dudefriend: or am i just a character in your internet life
Me: you’re my rock !
Dudefriend: for the amusement of your followers
Me: my mountain
Me: and i want to hug the mountain
Me: fuck that mountain, fuck that mountain… CHALLENGE THE ROCK [reference {because you need to get it}]
Dudefriend: guess what marissa
Me: what
Dudefriend: i wont stand for it
Me: BABY !
Me: say it ain’t sooooooooawhoawhoaaa
Dudefriend: now you’re quoting weezer
Dudefriend: who are you
Me: IT’S THE MORNING. YOU KNOW MY MORNING DECISION MAKING ABILITIES ARE WEAK !!!
Dudefriend: and mine are strong, per usual. I guess when I started this relationship I was under the impression that you maintained an excellent blog and were serious about creating lasting art. You led me to believe that that was the Marissa Ross I met. But now…. I do not even know who you are. You’re a drunk loser living in an imaginary dream world where the shit you do actually matters. Pissing my fortune away on your false illusions of luxury. I wish i could have started all over, with like a resume or something… letting me know how great of an actress you are and how horrible of a person you turned out to be.

Wow.
It’s like if anyone else said that I would have been like,
YOU’RE JUST JEALOUS… BITCH.
But…
I don’t even know where to begin.
Except that I feel a lot like Toni Braxton.

& that I am going to miss mad shower seshs tooooooooo.
& I am going to have to publicly cry out to millions of people
that I need my Dudefriend back.

Ideally with a fifteen piece orchestra, back up singers and an oversized Tahari blazer (cause those skintight numbers with the asymmetrical midriff holes really don’t do it for my spider-esque figure [I'm all appendages- lanky limbs on a one & a half foot slab of torso]).

I don’t really see that panning out though
so a WordPress platform & baggy t’s will have to do.
SOMEWAY
SOMEHOW
(without giving up my rich fantasy life in the blogosphere shrouded in a cloud of weed & wine)
I WILL MAKE THINGS RIGHT. <3

I will say though, I'm really happy he thinks I'm a good actress! I mean, I stopped solely pursuing acting like a year and a half ago so to know I've still got my chops, it really means something. You know, it's nice to hear your college fund wasn't spent in vain.