Tuesday, July 24, 2012

vol·a·tile

[vol-uh-tl, -til or, especially Brit., -tahyl] Show IPA
adjective
1.
evaporating rapidly; passing off readily in the form of vapor: Acetone is a volatile solvent.
2.
tending or threatening to break out into open violence; explosive: a volatile political situation.
3.
changeable; mercurial; flighty: a volatile disposition.
4.
(of prices, values, etc.) tending to fluctuate sharply and regularly: volatile market conditions.
5.
fleeting; transient: volatile beauty.

There it is. In all its glory. That's all that is me at the moment. I'm embracing it. It's just how it is.
Interesting how it manifests as being problematic within my lifestyle. For example, please apply "volatile" as my main behavioral trait while reading over this pretty-much verbatim transcript of a conversation from my weekend. (NB: This is not completely atypical as something people tend to say to me):  

Him: "Hey.. uh... you're that stripper girl or whoever, right? Do you remember me? I know so-and-so {old friend of mine who I actually quite like}." 
Me: (laughing sort-of): "Oh yeah, uh.. hi. I'm Crystal."
Him: "Yeah. I always had a little crush on you."
Me: "I see."
(literally 5 minutes later)
Him (totally serious): "So uh... do you wanna go hang out somewhere maybe?"
Me (laughing again): "You mean like, to have sex? (his face doesn't really change). Oh. Um, no. I'm good. Thanks anyway tho."
Him: "Yeah. You're a stripper alright."

Yup. 

So normally I would take a step back and assess this situation before reacting to it. Like, at this point I'm usually just kind of amused, with a mild side of judgement that this dude is probably somewhere on the asshole scale, but knowing that WHERE, exactly, is pretty hard to gage from this one interaction.  My compassionate and caring side asks: is it really his fault that strippers are misrepresented everywhere for being hustlers and teases and whores who should really just put out after 5 minutes of conversation? Maybe dude just needs a little schooling, bless his misconstrued little heart. He's probably never even seen a really good strip show. Hell, he probably doesn't even have very many girlfriends with lace underpants. He doesn't know we're smart and complicated humans! I should blame the internet. Let's go post something on it. Yayyy Naomi Wolf is super. Etc. Etc. 

And then, to be fair, I do have to consider my own occasional (albeit now definitely outgrown) forays into casual sex before I lay full judgement upon the man. If this was 2003 and the dude was SUPER hot, I might not have given a fuck. Let's be honest. There's a reason I kept condoms in my purse for years and years. 

But... back to this particular interaction. He's not super hot, it's not 2003, and I'm VOLATILE. So this  kind of hmm-haw social acceptance / one love narrative that's usually going on in my head is not happening today. Instead I am having a narrative that says, "PUNCH THIS FUCKER IN THE FACE".
 
So yeah, you know. Kinda problematic.
 
Another problem with being volatile: I cannot drink more that three alcoholic beverages in a row at the moment. It's really interesting. Right now if I have three, I'm good. If I have even just one more than that I'm off the edge like a fucking cartoon coyote. The heavenly numbness of Drink #4 is like rubbing baby angel wings on my crotch -- and I will chase that feeling til noon, you'd better believe it. Drink #4 is like sitting at the top of a waterslide with all the water rushing up against my back and then trying NOT to push off into the sooooooper sexy pools of blacking out... ohhhh yes. Those deep dark holes of not feeling a thing. I could swim there for weeks I tell you. I could build a hut there even. What's the name of that volleyball that became Tom Hanks' friend in Castaway? ...Yeah, NOT ALLOWED to go there. For at least another ten days. At least. Then a re-assess. We shall see. 

 Seeing as how I work at the greatest cocktail lounge ever as well as parties, almost exclusively, this is also problematic. Not impossible, but problematic. Very much hoping this passes by Bass Coast. Glenfiddich has plans for me; I lost a bottle before Diversity and have needed a rematch ever since. 
 
I guess I feel lucky to be conscious enough to see all this go down in real time and not a step too late. The joys of experience and well, of getting older. I'm wise enough to know that black holes and broken noses just put the game on pause. You don't get to skip any levels. Still gotta do the work when you get back. Except now your fingers and thumbs are all confuse-y and your head hurts. And you don't want anyone's blood ruining you manicure. It's fucking glitter tips, ummkay. They're pretty.

So yeah, that's how it all is at the moment. I expect this level of "volatile" won't last forever. I must say that I feel like I might be kind of killing it at the music thing right now though. Recording is like the best thing ever. All that raw makes for serving good voice it seems. And writing is still fun, apparently. ;) I get to play festival dressups in my house this week and that's like, my favorite thing to do EVER. Also Sunshine Coast - I get it. So it's not all bad. Plus you're reading this right now, and that's cool. So you know. 
 
Thanks. 


Me & Chelsey's dog, Boo, in Winnipeg at the beginning of the month. He's safe and sound at my mom's house. Not sure why I took this then, I think maybe to show her he's ok. You know? It's just... he's ok. I don't know. 

It's something.
 
xoxo
CP