Cheers, Regan

Wow. So, it's been a couple years since I've even looked at this thing. To tell you the truth, I completely forgot I had a blog until a friend reminded me. Re-reading some of my old posts literally made me LOL. I'd like to think that I've matured over the past three years, but something tells me I'm the same ol' neurotic chick. I will try to continue to update this blog with random rants and whatever fancies me at the moment, but for the next ten days, I'm going to use this as a tracking system for my Ten Day Juicing Detox Cleanse Starvation Project. Starting tomorrow, I will be drinking crazy juice concoctions that consist of kale, spinach, apples, etc. It looks like The Exorcist vomited in my glass. I guess the purpose is to cleanse out your "system"...whatever that is. I hope to lose a few pounds in the process, but I guess my main goal is to just have a goal. As mentioned in previous posts, I have extremely poor impulse control, especially when it comes to food. I want to challenge myself psychologically. Also, I'm really into eating organic foods lately and I have this huge fear of getting cancer from GMO's. Yeah, Netflix has got some horrifying documentaries, but that's a whole other subject. I plan on using this blog to write out the emotional roller coaster I'm buckling into, which, knowing me, is a going to be a roller coaster of anger, frustration, tears, and hilarity. I'm hoping that by writing the experience down, it will help me to stay motivated. Who knows, I might just have a mental breakdown and rob a Taco Bell. Well, I'm exhausted and have a lot of eating to do before tomorrow. Wish me luck...

I threw up my lunch today. Again.

At this point I'm just trying to figure out the most enjoyable thing to regurgitate. So far Chinese takeout is my least favorite. Ravioli seems to be tolerable. Alcohol is the easiest.

I thought I was finally past this overly emotional, self loathing part of my life. I've already been that girl, lying on the bathroom floor drinking myself to sleep while listening to the Bright Eyes discography. I suppose heartache always feels this shitty. You think that one day you will grow and mature...learn to take things in stride and see it as a lesson learned. Wrong. I'm right back on the bathroom floor. If anything it just gets fucking worse.

In the past week I've added three layers of brick to my wall. I'm a goddamn mason. I'm trying so hard not to be jaded by love but I can't help but lose a little less faith every time I get a brick thrown in my face.

I've never wanted to hit the fast forward button so bad in my life. This year has so far been nothing but shocker after shocker. That's what she said? Okay, yeah...I'm a lady. Anyway, really. I feel like I'm on the fucking Truman Show. I thought Arizona was going to be a new start in the right direction. Now I'm not so sure. I feel like I've been lost in this desert without water and I'm mistaking inanimate objects as loved ones. My mom always tells me this story of when I was a kid, back in Oregon. My grandma had one of those miniature cactus things in a pot on her coffee table. I kept trying to touch it one night and my mom kept telling me it would hurt me. So what did I do? Oh of course I open face slapped the thing. Twenty years later what do I do? I move to the cactus capitol of fucking America and jump head first off a cliff onto a Saguaro. I use metaphors way too much. Even I don't get it.

I'm so fucking tired. And I'm using the F word even more frequently which means I'm REALLY at a loss for words. I'm exhausted. Hopefully my mind will clear up soon and I can make sense of this whole shit storm that seems to never end. Once again...metaphors...NOT on point. Bed. Sleep. Now.

My mom just gave me an Easter Bunny Pez. I think I just found the best thing to throw up.



"So long everything!" he shouted, then he ran next door to Margot's house.

"I'm moving," he said.

"Where?" asked Margot.

"Two weeks away," said Mitchell.

"Where is that?" asked Margot.

"It's everywhere I will be after I walk for two weeks," said Mitchell, "I have lived in the same place for a long time, it is time for me to go some place else."

"No." said Margot, "You have only lived next door for fifteen years."

"Sixteen," said Mitchell.

"Fifteen...sixteen, what's the difference?" said Margot, "I want you to stay next door forever."

"I can't," said Mitchell, " I do not want to go wake up in the same old bed and eat breakfast in the same old kitchen. Every room in my house is the same old room, because I have lived there too long. “

"And you look at me and think, same old face, same old tail, same old scale, same old walk, same old talk, same old Margot,"

"No," said Mitchell, "I like your face, tail, scale, walk, and talk.”

”I like you."

"I like you too," said Mitchell. He walked through the door.

"I must pack," he said.

“Don’t you do what you’ve wanted to. Yeah, don’t destroy yourself like those cowards do and maybe the sun keeps coming up because it has gotten used to you and your constant need for proof.”

Lion in a coma, lying in a coma.

Blastin' Girl Talk ("Unstoppable" album...hottest album cover...ever?) Greg Gillis is my dream boy in sample-track form. Drinkin' a bruised pear. Cold spaghetti noodles with soy sauce...surprisingly pretty damn delicious. In the past few days I have eaten enough Brie cheese to supply an upscale winery. Except for my mastication process wasn't nearly as glamourous. I believe I have officially developed an aversion to dairy. I don't even want to think about how many hormone-injected cattle I've unintentionally subjected to mass-production-abuse in the past week. Corporate consumerism is a bitch.

If there's one thing I regret in life, it's not learning how to spin turntables.

I can't wait for summer. I'm not a cold weather sorta gal. I really wonder how I managed to survive in the Northwest for so long. It's a miracle I made it out of that gloom alive. I'm so happy in Arizona. I guess I'm just a desert girl at heart. Although there are certain things I miss about Portland, I don't ever want to live in 100 shades of grey again.

My penny loafers need new pennies. My junk drawer needs organizing. Candles to be lit. Cockroach guts to be cleaned up. Walls to be drawn on. So much to do...

mute. with the closed captions turned off.

Grrrrr. That's what I have been doing lately. Really. My once sighs of frustration have officially morphed into animal form. I caught myself literally growling today...more than once. Schmort can vouch for this werewolf-like behavior. By the way Schmort...thanks for sharing your brie and crackers with me today. Fancy hors d'oeuvres always make me feel better when I'm stressed. You sure know how to treat a girl right. Anyway. The Growling. Sort of sounds like some cheap horror film that focuses on girls' boobs and masochistic, raunchy sex scenes rather than the villain itself.

"Crystal Wade please dial 3803". "Crystal Wade to the front lobby, Crystal Wade to the front lobby". "This message is...URGENT...". "You have...7 NEW messages..." (insert werewolf growl). Today was one of those days where I wish I were Mogwai. You know...the Gremlin. All I would need to do is add water and I could multiply myself. Although...they would be much meaner, uglier versions of myself. At least they would get shit done. They or I? I don't know...can I take credit for clones of myself?

I can't sleep. I've tried Tylenol PM, Benedryl, NyQuil, alcohol, herbal teas....nothing. I really don't want to take Ambien because I'm horrified that I'm going to start sauteing cigarette butts in massive amounts of butter. Nothings worse than unconscious fat and nicotine intake. Or maybe I am sleeping. I don't know to be honest. The strangest things have been happening to me lately. I'm having the most realistic dreams ever. For the past two weeks I have been having a hard time deciphering dreams and reality. It's quite possible this is some sort of psychosis developing. Most forms of psychosis aren't detectable until your mid-twenties anyway. Maybe I just have a lot on my mind, and I'm trying to process it in my unconscious? Shit. I don't know. There have been several times this week where I have imagined that conversations/events have taken place, but actually hadn't. Reality versus imagination. Total. Freaking. Blur.

I've decided I like summer a whole lot better than winter. I decided that a long time ago I think, but it's become apparent now.
I miss lazy days by the pool.
I miss the smell of sunscreen.
I miss the smell of barbecue although I don't eat barbecue.
I miss bloodshot eyes from chlorine.
I miss walking up to the highest point I could find to watch the sunset.

Nostalgia hit me like a freight train this week. All I want to do is surround myself with old familiarity. I've been looking at old photographs, reading old letters. Why don't people write letters to each other anymore? I miss that.

Screws are loose. Marbles are lost. Lights are out. Something. I'm lost in a whirlwind of imagination and past memories. Nothings current. Nothing makes much sense. Maybe I'm overwhelmed with work and my personal life. I don't know. I wish I didn't make things so difficult. I wish I knew when to shut the hell up. I never know when to shut the fuck up. I never know when to hit the mute button.

I remember when my biggest concern was transferring my favorite comic from the Oregonian onto my multicolored silly putty. I remember not wanting to mix my silly putty too much because the bluish-pink swirl would soon turn to solid purple, and then the fun was over. That's how I feel now. Like a big blob of purple with the worst comic sloppily smeared onto the surface. I'm like the mirror image of Garfield with the color worn out. I'm sorry if you don't know what I'm talking about...I've never been good with metaphors.

I self sabotage. I make myself purple on purpose.

twothousandten

New Years fucking sucks. But, as much as I hate to admit it, I will be partaking in this binge drinking, false-hope-spreading, pseudo optimistic, excuse for excessive glitter, "holiday". I guess I am making what you would call "A Resolution". Barf. (Note To Self: Resolute the over-use of quotation marks).

No...I will not partake in the dressing-up-like-you-look-like-a-cheap-fucking-disco-ball-from-Forever-21 show of girls. I will not be one of the drunken twenty -somethings on the dance floor with their vodka soda bopping around to synthesized Lady Gaga; "Oh I LOOOVVEEE THIS SONG". I will not act like I can drop it low. I will not participate in the outspoken countdown from 10 to 1. I will not kiss someone at midnight and have naive misconceptions about what love really is.

Every New Years since I can remember has been shitty. From hair pulling, to break ups, to cheating, to jail, to failed friendships, to big mistakes, and many, many tears. New Years has always been bad for me.

But...I'm feeling sorta cheesy and slightly optimistic at the moment. So...as of now...I resolute the following:

1. To be me. Sometimes I censor my immaturity and cower away when I feel shy and vulnerable. But shit...thats me. I'm sick of making excuses for my awkwardness. I'm a little strange sometimes. I shouldn't have to make excuses for this. Accept the weirdo.

2. Explore. I've hardly been anywhere. I mean...In my mind I have been to planets that don't even exist yet...but here on what we call Earth (major restraint from quotations there), I want to see more. The farthest East I've been of the West Coast has been Arizona...(judging)....it's sad but true. I'm not afraid. I want to see the world.

3. Me. I want to take more care of myself. I can go weeks without flossing, a day or two without a shower, hair in a messy pony and out the door. Shaving? Who cares. Pick up wrinkled clothes off the floor and throw 'em on. I'm a lady...I should act like one.

Pessimistic veil: back on. Have a happy New Year. Just know that you can start new anytime.

"It's just that everything I try to do, nothing seems to turn out right"

"In high school, I thought you were a total bitch, but...you're actually pretty cool."

In 10th grade the volleyball coach wouldn't let me be starting DS the second half of the season because of my "attitude". I had no idea what she was talking about.

"If you don't get that look off your face you're benching it the rest of the game!" This was a phrase I was use to hearing on a weekly basis.

I truly believe I'm just one of those people who was born with a "bitch face". I realize we live in a society where we judge people based off their hairstyle, their clothes, makeup, car, etc., but aren't we suppose to get to know people before we start placing labels? I know I don't bleed sunshine on a regular basis, but I'd like to think that I'm a pretty friendly girl. Sure, I know how to turn on the bitch switch when needed but I generally don't unless; A) You're being really mean to one of my friends, B) You are shitty to me first, or C) I see you as competition in boy situation.

First impressions are bullshit. I hate the phrase "A first impression is everything". Not true. First impressions are either fake as hell or so honest that they come off as something fake anyway. I'm slightly socially awkward. Yeah I have friends and like to go out on the weekends, but I have to admit, I definitely know how to make the "wrong" kind of first impression.

I live within extremes. I'm always too much of this, not enough of that. Never a middle ground. Sometimes I'm too shy, other times I can't even stop my own word vomit. I guess it just depends on how I feel around you. Intuition? I can be shy, quiet and aloof around people I feel intimidated by. If I'm in a group of people who I don't really know and they're all talking about something they saw/did, etc., Im not the type of person to jump in the convo with my two cents. I will most likely daydream, cross my arms and glance awkwardly around the room. I see how this can be misconstrued. My intentions are not to look like a snotty brat. It's just that maybe I think you're a cool person, with interesting things to say, and I'm afraid of opening my mouth because of what you will think of me. I would rather get criticized by something I don't say than something I do say. Too self conscious? Maybe. That's just me.

I hate when people don't like me after only 30 minutes of knowing me. It's not that I feel the need to be loved by everyone, but I'm kind of a complex girl, there's more to me than the half hour you spent across the table from me...lets at least have a real conversation before you decide to not like me for one reason or another. Maybe I'm just being overly-sensitive about this but I can't help but feel hurt when people get the wrong idea.

Maybe I should just start speaking up. If anything, it makes sense mathmatically. Being mute and looking awkward = negative judgement. Talking = friendly = higher chance of looking "normal" = higher probability of making a "good" impression vs. defaulting to hair twirling and floor glancing. Talking > not talking.

As I venture into my late twenties I am coming to terms with the fact that I'm never going to be that charismatic girl. In high school I was nominated for some winter formal thing, but turned it down because of the fear of having to walk all dressed up in front of the entire school. I literally had to go to the principal's office and tell him I didn't want them to call my name over the loudspeaker in the morning announcements. I wasn't trying to be a stuck up princess. I genuinely feared the possibility of criticism from my classmates.

I realize insecurity is not the most desirable or attractive quality. Again...like I said...I live within extremes. I'm shy and awkwardly weird but then blurt out how shy and awkwardly weird I am. There's nothing like self depricavation. Anyway, the point I'm trying to make in a very half-assed, tangential way, is that I don't mean to be such a bitch. My shitty demeanor is not intentional. Next time I side glance at you or smirk as I stir the ice in my drink...take it as a compliment. It means I find you amusing. It means I think you're someone with something intelligent/interesting to say and I just can't think of a damn thing to say because I'm unimpressed with my own dialogue.

And for the record I think my "bitch face" is pretty intimidating. Coach should have let me start more games.

I'm a vegetarian...but I still love a Burger.

As I downed what was left of my 40 oz. Coors Light (yeah I'm classy) I checked my reflection once more in my toothpaste smeared mirror. Maybe I need more eyeliner? Should I trim my bangs real quick? Why the hell am I wearing this dumb hoodie to a bar? Should I try to dress more girly? Shit. I should have used Whitestrips today. I applied another unnecessary layer of $16 lip gloss and headed out the door. For some reason pricey, department store lip gloss fixes everything.

The carpeted halls muted my pathetic attempt to walk in heels. Heels and a hoodie? Again...pure class. As I entered the foyer of my rundown apartment building, my heels stuck to the vodka covered rubber floor. Of the two years I lived in the 525 Monroe, I don't think I ever saw anyone clean those rusty, rubber floors. They were the kind of floors that have 1/4 inch elevated circles everywhere that are supposed to emulate traction. I soon learned that rubber floors in rainy Oregon and 3:00 am stumbles back home equals bruised knees and scuffed high heels.

I opened the front door and prepared to brave the Oregon, February air. I heard chatty voices of girls to my left. Uh oh...people my age...eyes to pavement. I shielded myself from any possibility of social interaction by looking toward the illuminating lights of the bus stop across the street, creating a curtain of blonde hair which read: "Please don't fucking talk to me". I could feel their judging eyes burning through my makeshift hair shield. How will I ever make friends like this?

I decided to disguise my social awkwardness by making an attempt to half-smile. My eyes quickly shifted to a girl leaning against the crumbling building. She had waist long dark hair (which we would later refer to as "mermaid" hair), a white tube top, and a Marlboro Light between her middle and index finger. As she blew smoke out her smirking smile she cocked her head up toward the sky. She exuded confidence. You could tell she was the kind of girl who was always the life of the party. Someone who people were drawn to.

Two blocks North and I was at my destination. Cantina. The local dive bar which served cheap, over poured drinks to the binge drinking college kids. Being newly 21, unsure of myself and intimidated by all the girls in their halter tops and short skirts, I ordered a vodka cran and stood by the wall. The dark area between the dance floor and the tables. Perfect for creeper-lurking. After meeting up with some friends and a few more vodka crans later, I ran into Marlboro Light girl.

"Hey! You're my neighbor!" She shouted this over the ridiculously loud rap music. "We should go out together sometime!" We exchanged numbers in a drunken daze. "Burger! Make sure you put me in as Mary BURGER!" I remember thinking it was slightly odd and intriguing that she insisted on being called by her full name. And Burger? Just like I thought...this girl's got confidence.

The next day "Mary Burger" appeared on the screen of my hot pink Razar (which was at the time covered in duct tape). "Hey what are you doing? You want to go get some food?" We met in the musty hallway between her apartment and mine. Both nursing hangovers from the night before wearing, slippers, sweat pants and hoodies. Instant friendship.

And that was how I found my intellectual soul mate. We soon discovered our mutual love for music, cynicism, Sex and the City re-runs, grape flavored vodka, writing, bad-boys and caffeine. We eventually made keys to each other's places which came in handy every time I couldn't remember if I turned off my flat iron and had to have Mary check, or when Mary wanted to borrow an item of clothing which was always scattered throughout my messy room. The next two years in that convict filled apartment building were hands down the best times I had in college. Sure, at the time we wanted to murder spandex girl upstairs, and demon hippie dude across the hall. My view of the dumpster was comical and proved to be perfect for people watching the rehab clinic next door. It was dirty and at times a little scary. The heaters sucked in the winter and the paper thin walls kept us up on nights we had midterms. My bedroom window which faced the ally way was often frequented by intoxicated boys too drunk to wait to find a bathroom. One time I actually woke up to a boy peeing on my window. Awesome. We found out nearly half of the town's sex offenders lived within a 50 foot radius of our rooms. Our mailboxes were always full because we refused to give any attention to overdue bills. The parking was horrible and nearly every day Mary and I had stacks of bright orange parking tickets on our illegally parked cars. Parking tickets soon became a game of who could get the most. Mary taught me how to cook orzo pasta and I introduced her to screamo bands (yes...we were emo kids...and damn proud of it). She bleached a chunk of her dark hair and I added black to mine. We refused to wear anything but black nail polish, caked on eyeliner and Chuck Taylors. She was there to comfort me after my first real heartbreak, and I was always eager to live vicariously though her ability to simultaneously date 4 guys at once, who were all friends and worked together, without them ever knowing...(this girl still amazes me). We may have wanted to bomb the place from time to time, but looking back, I had a lot of great memories in the 525 with Mary Burger. Even though I now live in the Southwestern desert and she lives in the Southeastern tropics, she has remained a close friend of mine throughout time and distance. Whenever I need to talk to someone who actually "gets" me...she's there to give me a dose of Oregon. It's really reassuring to know that even though you're so far away from home, there's always that phone call you can make to help keep you grounded. I'm convinced that one day we will live near one another again...but next time with a little less vodka and a little better fashion sense.