Melanie Unmade

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solicited cover (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

I’ve been keeping up okay with my drinking.  Painting the Picasso of loneliness with beers and tears.  I go out to bars to escape my little island of misfit toys and order another.

Today was my day off from alcohol.  I didn’t go to the bar to punch in my fermented time card, no.  Instead I went to see The Avengers (which was incredible!) and ate at Sushi Palace, an all you can eat sushi place.  My hand shook involuntarily as I picked up my sashimi with my trembling chopsticks.  So shaky in fact, that I had to steady one hand with the other.  It was embarrassing.  I felt ashamed.  But what can you do…

My new friends pull me in all directions.  They tug on my arms, dance with me, sing with me, drink with me.  They call and text non-stop.  It’s an unending tap that I hosed myself to.  I can’t escape.

Ania doesn’t know about Jared coming on to me – it would kill her.

I haven’t been murdered yet, so Jeremy’s wife (I finally learned his name) doesn’t know about our meaningless tête-à-tête.  I hope she’s not from Hong Kong.

My confidence is at an all time low, which guys seem to like.  I swear I have not been hit on this much, ever!

An old bar friend that I’ve known for years – “You are so gorgeous.  So gorgeous.  But it seems like you have no confidence in yourself.  How is that possible?  I’m not just saying this, but I fully believe that you can accomplish anything you want.  How do you not have confidence?  Do you know how incredible you are?  I’m in love with you.”

Me – “You’re right, I have no confidence.  But I don’t think I can change that.”

Him – “Don’t get me wrong, I’m not hitting on you, I’m an old man, but you should think more of yourself.”

He just confessed his love for me and says he’s not hitting on me – super confusing.  I am perpetually confused.

Okay, I know how I must sound by writing all this in my blog.  That I’m vain, an egomaniac or whatever and yeah, that’s probably true.  But anytime I hear stuff like this, I just feel guilty and I don’t know why.   I feel guilty because he shouldn’t love me so much.  I’m not that great and never once have I thought of myself as gorgeous.  And maybe he thinks I’m incredible because I did some underhanded farce to make him believe that.  Like I tricked him or something.  I feel sorry for making him believe all that rubbish.

I shouldn’t write shit like this in my blog but it takes the place of my 33 journals that I burned last summer.  They are gone and now all I have left is this.

I still manage to have a good time when I  go out.  I’m miserable, but a functioning kind of miserable.

See?  I’m totally functioning.

After that old man from the bar hit on me, I get hit on by the bouncer.

He balanced his heavy wooden chair on his chin.

I had him do an owl pose.

I’m out of the loop, so I just recently learned about planking and owling.  Now I’m hooked on it.

Trash can plank.  Ohh yeah!


My new alcoholic friends…

He’s singing karaoke.  These people love to sing!

 These are the faces that will be the death of me.

This girl looks super sweet and innocent but don’t be fooled.  She’s one of the most vulgar people I have ever met and dances dirty.  She’s awesome.

I’m tired.  I got home today at 11 am from last night.  I need to turn in early tonight.  First I think I’m going to draw Iron Man because I effing love him and want to see him hanging on my wall.

I’m a superhero dweeb girl, a lush and a neurotic.

And this neurotic girl must sleep.

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