Black Bean Salsa

Before I begin my apologies to everyone last night (except the guy I gave the finger- that still stands). Special thanks to Jimmy (for getting my ass a cab), Kroge (for literally getting my ass in the cab), Jaynia and Dani (for not calling me an ambulance, for not hating me, for being really, really awesome friends... the list pretty much goes on and on for you two).

***

Ok, here goes.

I did it again. I salsa'd. Only this time it wasn't at a charity golf tournament, it was the GaTech MBA pub crawl. I know, worst possible situation EVER.

When I was in high school my best friend and I liked to play "Let's Ruin Our Lives." I'm not even joking, we'd do stupid stuff, knowing the outcome would not be good. We wanted to see how bad we could "F" things up and then recover. We were bored, obviously.

Now here I am 27 and I'm still doing the same thing. Except now I wouldn't say its a conscious decision. Yesterday somehow/somewhere between my first beer and my last beer, I had tooo many. The next thing I know I'm on the floor of the bathroom, donating black bean salsa (which I'm still confused about, because all I ate yesterday was cereal and mac and cheese- yes, I know I'm such a little kid) to the toilet.

FACE PALM. Wait, no... FACE BATHROOM FLOOR. 10 minute rule? GAHHHHHHHHH. So gross.

My friends got me outside at the waitress' request and I immediately snuggled up on the concrete. Ahhhh, bedtime! You might be intoxicated if... concrete is comfortable. Here's your sign! But, obviously by that time recovery is out of the question... as well as water. Stop offering me!

So I know I was the wasted one and really have no right to say anything... but I think we have all been there. Lying on the floor and someone keeps telling us we should move. Ok, fine, I get it. But, when I'm laying on the floor in my own puke and some stranger comes up to me and starts telling me what to do... ahem. Excuse me?! Now I'm gonna get feisty. I definitely shot some guy the bird multiple times.

No. I don't feel bad about that... especially after learning that he called my friends "bad friends" for not calling me an ambulance. An ambulance?! Really? Holy shit (my mom does say shit)... thank goodness they didn't! I'm drunk, I'm not lying in the middle of the road with a severed limb. NOTE TO WORLD: No one is calling me an ambulance but me, because I'm the one that's gonna pay for it!!!!

Sigh. This. This whole situation is probably why my parents threatened to pull me out of undergrad my first semester. Some people just never learn. And, yes, by some people I mean me.

Sorry :/.

xoxo. Jildo

No More Cursing, Fudge!

Lol. We'll see how this works. After my last blog, my grandfather's wife texted me: "I agree with your mom, if I didn't know you and just read your blog I would think you are a completely different person."

My response, but you do know me! Haha. I guess that doesn't fly.

Anyways, what am I talking about? I'm going generic. I'm tired of talking about money, aside from paying my monthly installments to Emory's ER I am so over it.

I talked to my Ex's mother last weekend. GASP. No, its really not that abnormal... or maybe it is? When you date someone for 5 years their family becomes your family, so when you break up, you break up with them and keep their family. At least I did. Ok, maybe a little weird.

Weirder? I think they like me better now.

So I'm talking to the ex's mom and I mention my idea that I am too selfish to have kids... not so much a relationship, but possibly kids. When we broke up they told me that it was for the best, because I like change and he didn't... that I always want an adventure. And it is completely true, once I'm comfortable I want to move on.

I started to think that this quality makes me weird. Sure, I want to find love and have a family, but what if I'm too *darn* selfish? What if achieving my goals, which trust me are never ending, means I can't have a real relationship? It happened to Madonna! Guy Ritchie broke up with her because it was more important to her to work out than hang out with him (at least that's what I heard on the radio- so it has to be 100% true).

But seriously. The older we get, statistically speaking (I am all about this now) I would think it is less likely for us to find a compadre. Why? Because we are comfortable with ourselves. I sure as heck am. I'm happy! I have my own place, I like my job, I feel fulfilled, I'm proud of myself, I'm not lonely. Which means we are less likely to settle. Which is great! No one should settle- but how is it possible that all of these married people did not settle? I just want to know.

While having drinks after class tonight the single question came up. "So what's your excuse?" Well I'm *darn* picky thank you. And I brought up the fact that there are a buhjillian people in the world and I'm just looking for one person... it could take awhile!!! But the general consensus seemed to be that there are probably thousands of people in Atlanta alone that I could "get along with and be happy with."

I'm sorry. Did I say I was looking for someone to "get along with"? When you experience it you know it-- and unless I have fireworks and am laughing my *** off everyday and think you are the bees knees this is not happening. Right?! Do I just have a skewed perception of reality?

How many times in your life have you hit it off with someone? How many times has someone accepted you 100% for who you are? And how many times have you respected that person equally as much as they do you? And then there's attraction? Personality? Morals? Beliefs? Drive?

How many times have you know without a doubt that you would give your life for someone else's? Because they were just that awesome. I mean it doesn't happen that often.

Sure a lot of people are great... but great doesn't mean anything.