Everybody's Working For the Weekend, Pt. 1

Tiring of posting ridiculously long blog entries (damn Blogger) I'm breaking up all the fun of this weekend into several easy to read entries. Enjoy reading about me moping around my house. Me eating at Fishlips alone, discussing the properties of "Rolling Rock" beer and fidelity with the barkeep. Me going to a local film premiere. Me snaking a kiss from the star. Me yaking about a guy who dumped me for Jesus. Me reviewing said film. Me and a little kid bonding over a game of "Centipede" at the Laundromat. Me losing a load of clothes at the Laundromat. And a brief discussion of the car that defined the 80s — the DeLorean.

Peruse at your disposal. Here's part one of "How I Spent My Weekend" —

DIARY OF A NOT-VERY-BAD BLACK WOMAN

So I was moping around the house this weekend and lamenting the fact that I've never smoked weed.

Now you can have one of four reactions to that. A) Wow! You're such a good, good girl! (Thanks, Mommy!) B) Dude, you are so lying! (Anyone who's ever been to college.) C) And you're telling me this why? (the critic) or D) I feel sorry for you, you're obviously not the risk taking type.

D) would be the correct answer. I was very serious and business-like in college. I had no time for the ganja. I feared anything that would impede my desire to get out of college in under four years and break into the world of journalism. And since weed/alcohol/drugs/sex are all robbers of your ambition I pretty much did none of that in college. And because I was so fixated on being a "Type A" overachiever I often lament on how I've never done ... well, anything.

Oh, I've done some things. But I'm someone who writes about OTHER people doing things. I don't actually DO things. That's crazy. I play no sports. I've never traveled abroad. Not even to Mexico. Not even to Canada. Smoke weed? I'd just be the one to get arrested after puff one. Drive drunk? I'd be just the one to killed and take out half the town with me. Heck. I didn't even get drunk until I was 24 and that was because I was in Midland, TX going through a divorce with a bunch of frickin' depressed alcoholic journalists for friends. They thought they were solving my problems by introducing me to the art of being wasted. Of course, the next day I had a hangover that lasted ten hours and hurt like ten bitches on a bitch boat ... with vomiting and blurred vision. My love life? We're not even going to touch that unless you want to be bored to tears. Aside from fantasies involving either A) Johnny Depp playing pirate with me on Marlon Brando's island into perpetuity or B) Aaron McGruder and I running off to "Black Nerd Love Heaven" together where the snark and scholarship reign supreme my heart is the place where relationships go to die.

So, we've laid the ground work. I don't do jack crap. I don't have wild flings. I just say no to drugs. My best friend count includes a ridiculously high number of uber-Christians who greatest sins include cursing and bitching. And so I guess I should be proud of all this nothing, but no, not really. As I'm not "doing nothing" out of good ol' fashioned Christian love, but out of good ol' fashioned Christian fear. Fear of Father God coming down and kicking my ass. Never mind that I was not raised to fear the Lord, but I was raised to fear my parents. Since God is the "Big Parent," I was blessed with ye super guilty conscious that will allow me to never, ever do anything.

I once got a journal about four years ago that I lamely titled "Diary of A Bad Girl" and it's pretty much empty. Aside of some doodles of myself and my ex (which I later turned into a panel called "Ex-Boyfriend Trading Cards" in my comic strip "Nerd Girl") it's very uneventful. I mean, got it with the best intentions of being thoroughly rotten. I was going to be a bitch and just run amok, but, yeah, that didn't really happen. It will probably never happen. I'm going to just accept it.

So this weekend, I decided I would do "something." Something could be anything. Anything that wasn't illegal or could potentially kill me or give me a rotten disease. Anything that didn't involve property destruction but specifically involved enjoying life. And I would finally wash my clothes (as I had over a months worth of laundry to do). I was going get up, get out and get something and not allow my life to pass me by!

The results were mixed, but eh, I could have done worse.