Archive for January, 2006

Thankfully my eyes are already brown

January 24, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“It is a most mortifying reflection for a man to consider what he has done, compared to what he might have done. ” ~Samuel Johnson, in Boswell’s Life of Johnson, 1770

Save for the time I hit Lauren Narkeweiz on the head with a rolled up poster, I have never once hit anyone not related to me. I used to punch G* and try to brutally maim him on a regular basis, but then one day I called home and some man answered. A man, with very manly voice who sounded like he could kick my ass. G hit puberty and gone were the days when I could shove him to the ground and jump on his back. I swear that only happened once. Now that he’s well over six feet and 250 lbs, I tend to run like a little bitch when he comes after me. It’s sad really. I’ve never gotten into a fight. Like a real, drop down, I’m going to beat the shit out of you if you fuck with me again, fight. I use the term “I’m going to drop kick your ass” very liberally. Truth is, that’s quite doubtful. Though I look like I could kill you, I’m more likely to use profanity, scream and cry. I’m a pussy ass little bitch, who talks a lot of shit. There, I said it. I think what gives people that misconception is that I’m tall (for a girl), the complete opposite of small and well I’m black. And we all know that black women are really fucking scary (Peg pissed, not pleasant). Over the years though, while I’m been saying that I’m going to “fuck that motherfucker up”, G and the rest of my brothers have been getting into knock-down-drag-out–dad- is- going- to- have –to- post bail, kind of fights.

I can’t help it, I’m just really exceptional at telling bold faced lies about what I’m going to do and then when the time comes, I never do it. I’m chicken shit and I don’t take risks. I like to know that something will definitely happen. Don’t leave shit up to chance, I say, as I wear my raincoat and carry a golf umbrella, just incase the rain coat doesn’t live up to it’s uber-North Face standards. I make promises, and can never keep them (dude! Law and Order was on); I make resolutions and by January 5th they’re long forgotten (dude! Five Guys is so tasty). That’s just the way it is and after 22 years, I’ve come to accept that I am full of a whole lotta shit. Ok fine, I was ok with it. WAS. Now all the shit I’ve been so gung-ho about doing (let’s run down the list right quick: Peace Corps, Teach for America, Grad School…that’s just the beginning), feels like it might come back to bite me in the ass. It’s that decision to not spread my knowledge to all of the underprivileged kids in South Bronx. Payback I tell ya. I’ve been told that I’ve done a lot, like mastering the art of getting two separate calls to conference, without hanging up on some Senator. Yup, that’s a whole lot right there. I feel so fulfilled, I can die happy now, knowing that I can use a fax machine properly. Go me.

I feel like if I don’t do what I really would like to do; something that makes me so fucking warm and fuzzy inside that I’ll start thinking puppies and babies are cute again; then I might never do it. And I don’t want that. I can’t play the ‘I wish I would/could’ game any longer. But like I said, I’m really good at changing my mind and at being 22 and fickle; but never prone to ‘just do it’ tactics. That’s what I need more of, I mean when else in my life will I be able to pick up everything and do something exciting or that I’ve always wanted to do. I suppose part of it is fear of failing horribly and not getting what I really want. I may very well just never be good enough or extraordinary and that scares the shit out of me.

But like I said, I’m fickle. I might very well wake up tomorrow and say, “gee that was a great idea, but I’m perfectly content where I am.” Yeah, then again hell might freeze over tomorrow and I’ll win $2 million dollars and Simon and Schuster will call. You never know.

*the boy’s name really is G, like my parents obviously couldn’t think of anything better, so they picked a random letter out of the alphabet. I think they may have asked my opinion, and I said X, but I’m over it. (He may be bigger, but I’ll always have this lovely sense of humor and wit. God, I’m so witty**)

**did you just roll your eyes at that too?

Just the Beginning

January 24, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Life is a series of collisions with the future.” ~José Ortega y Gasset

I’m notorious for just not speaking to people anymore; those that were my “best friends” in middle school and high school, hell, even in college, I’ve randomly just stopped speaking to. It’s not like anything actually happened, but we’ve just moved on and I’m really fucking good at moving on and leaving those from my former life behind. Obviously something I need to work on, but that’s not the point, the point is these massive changes can happen to my friends and I’m left in the dark. Though, I totally deserve it, and they deserve good things to happen to them, I’m still conflicted. Not jealous, but this whole getting older thing is weird.

Over New Year’s my best friend, who I still spend every New Year’s Eve with, came out to me. We still speak pretty regularly and I had asked her about it last year as her girlfriend (now ex-girlfriend) and I are also friends, but still when she told me, I got pissed, because she lied, and then had to process this information. It’s not that she’s gay, I could give a shit, it’s that she lied about it and then never mentioned again until we were drunk and playing kings. But then again, I totally deserve her keeping me in the dark. My idea of ‘speaking regularly’ is once every 3-5 months. I hate the phone and I don’t like going backwards.

A few hours ago, during my ritual, ‘let’s check out everyone’s AIM profiles and procrastinate time’ I learned that my best friend from Middle School just got engaged. ENGAGED. A person, I’ve known since I was 11. The person who helped me plot against Emily Haines and her crazy ass mother in the 9th grade, is now engaged. Engaged to the boy she started dating in the 10th grade. Obviously a long time coming, but I couldn’t help but sit here wide eyed and think this is how it begins. We did the usual small talk, about life. Her grandmother’s sudden death and my father’s near death in the beginning of the summer. Then quickly moved on to me. No, nothing is going on, just work. Nope, no boys. Not even a thought. Definitely not getting any, but thanks, thanks for asking.

This is how it starts, isn’t it? One friend gets engaged, then suddenly they’re all engaged and asking me whether or not I’ve found a special someone (ok, please God, don’t let them use the phrase special someone, or else I might vomit). I’ll be here alone in DC with my cats. Me and my fucking cats; feigning happiness when friend number 239 tells me about her new platinum engagement ring from Tiffany’s. Just what she always wanted. I’m rolling my eyes now. When I start seeing sonogram photos of little Billy in 4D sucking his thumb; God please forgive me now from running away screaming and/or telling my friend to please shut the fuck up. I see myself enjoying many glasses of wine, and smiling broadly, while saying “How cuuuuuute” and keeping my upchuck reflex in check. Because that’s just what friends do.

Just so you know, it’s always about me

January 23, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

In general I have a difficult time with narcissism. I don’t like talking about myself because I feel like I have nothing interesting to say and most of the time, I do things for my benefit not so that others can say ‘wow, what a great job’. Anyway, I received an email from a new reader, who asked more about me, because I’m too cheap to move to Typepad (which I am now seriously considering once again), I don’t have an “about page”, but instead a profile. So who am I not to submit to the requests of my few, but loyal readers? (I’m also bored and you people get a lot of crap when I’m bored and/or procrastinating).

Ok, so um, Hi! My name is Heather and I often say ‘Hi’ excitedly, but only to people I like or if I’m being super fake, which I am pretty damn good at. I am originally from Upstate, NY, where yes, I am quite aware that it is fucking freezing; thus the escape move from NY to Washington, DC in 2001. There was also that whole college thing, but I sum that up as my parents investing $140,000 in my learning to hold up to six shots of vodka and two beers, without puking. Surprisingly enough, I graduated in May of 2005 from American University, with a complicated degree (and I can’t even find my diploma) and now I have a kick ass job, with a kick ass boss, but I will never make any money. Ever. At least not until I’m well into my 40’s.

This was intended for my friends and family, but instead they expressed their disinterest in my life and so now strangers read my thoughts and my mother (whom I refer to by first name, like three times a week) gets upset when I say fuck and my aunt thinks that I need prayer. I probably do, but whatever. And so now I spend my spare time writing about how much it sucks to be 22 and that, the real world, which I am now inhabiting isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Either way, I like my job and I’m slowly gaining my footing and learning to budget and not flip my shit when the Pepco bill is $200.

Most of the time I hate everything I write, but then there are those few moments when I really don’t give a shit. I can be mean, sarcastic, pretentious and bitchy; and though I probably deserve it, please don’t be mean back, because I’m also sensitive. I believe strongly in the power of Coach, Aveda hair products, Lush and a good pair of size 11 shoes from Nordstrom (you know, if you’d like to buy me things). I talk a lot about my mom, exhaustion, the gym, how much I spend at Trader Joe’s and alcohol. If you don’t like any of those things, well then you’re shit out of luck. I also swear a lot and enjoy using the term “asshat”.

No Pasa Nada, is a Spanish phrase to mean nothing is happening/everything is copasetic. Much like “Hakuna Matata”, it means no worries, and it’s something I strive for everyday, even when I’m crying over my Coach bags. I feel like my 20’s might be the longest decade ever, and as much as I complain now, I will inevitably be sad when it’s over. So for now, I’m just trying to enjoy the ride, without completely falling off.

I encourage emails (nopasanadablog@gmail.com) telling me how awesome I am and that I am the greatest thing since sliced bread. Or if you‘d just like to de-lurk and say hi, please do. Other than that; enjoy!

site designed by BabyJewels. Though she may hate you, she loves me.

A Moment of Clarity

January 23, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Anxiety and distress, interrupted occasionally by pleasure, is the normal course of man’s existence.” ~Joseph Wood Krutch

When I first realized I was depressed, it was after I had disappeared for a weekend and had started putting cigarettes out on my arm on a regular basis. I was also crying and moody and threatening to jump off metro platforms. Then there was this sudden epiphany, like hey dumbass, this is bad. I subsequently began seeing a therapist for the low low price of $120 per session, twice a week. Several hundred thousand dollars later, I was ok enough to go only once a week and to leave the country without flipping my shit. Of course I still flip my shit on occasion and will cry for no reason, except because I’m just sad. The worst is that in college I could be incapacitated due to depression and take a few days off from class. In the lovely real world of which I am now residing, I can’t take a day off of work because I’m really fucking sad. Instead I have to go in, because I have to have money. And instead of being ‘haha everything is funny’ Heather, I tend to become moody, ‘oh my god, I might cry because of the dumbest shit ever’ Heather. When I get depressed, every little thing will bother me to no end, to the point where the apocalypse might be coming if I lose a sock.

I waver between not caring about anything and keeping to myself and then being completely normal. It’s like a constant battle between me thinking that the world will end with every little problem and it being ok, that I overspent at Aveda, because that’s what parents and/or a savings account is for. And this is how it’s been for the past few weeks. I’ve been really fucking bored and full of malaise about everything in my life and I take pity on anyone who came within 10 feet of me; I was a bitch on wheels. Then suddenly, everything was ok. As in I didn’t cry when I hated my outfit on Friday night or when I was running late. I was able to enjoy dinner with my favorite people, during which we reminisced about college, which feels like forever ago. Saturday, I could’ve cared less when I looked like shit, but I made that trek out to VA and enjoyed Sex and the City and a few red stripes and stella’s.

I think what’s most important is that things are rarely the ‘be all end all’ in life and that there will always be times when things fucking suck. But I’ve finally learned how to say “Heather stop being a piss ass bitch and calm the fuck down”. It also helps to be girly and have a little SATC in my life, as ridiculous as I think it all is; and there is always alcohol and the friends that brag about you to their roommate’s parents and a few rounds of yoga. Suddenly everything is copasetic and I can check my bank balance without becoming ill and write like I fucking mean it; so for now, it’s all good.

Tell me a story

January 20, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

Peg used to tell me a story every night before bed; my favorite being the one about the day she almost drowned and then went home and got hit by a car. I’ve been bored lately. Bored crazy in everything that I do, though nothing is actually wrong. I wish there was some tangible reason for why I am so bored and full of pity for myself. Yeah, I’ve been going to the gym, but of course it takes 21 days for something to become habit. So give me 14 more days, and maybe I’ll be in the best mood ever. But until then, it’s nothing. Just me and a whole bunch of bullshit. I need someone to tell me a story. Something good, bad anything. Because, I feel like I’m fresh out. The only story I have now involves a giant sized man in Bank of America who didn’t know who Brad and Angelina were. The other story should be good, but it’s bad because it’s disappointing and unexpected, but mostly really disappointing. Now I’m not only disappointed, I’m annoyed and on the verge of tears about something that most wouldn’t be crying about. But alas I am very close to tears. And well, this just sucks. Really fucking sucks.