Archive for March, 2006

Disturbed

March 31, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Make your feet your friend.” ~J.M. Barrie

In the three months since I’ve joined WSC, I’ve seen some noticeable changes. I’ve even turned into one of those people who freaks the fuck out when missing the gym for one day. I mean, God forbid I don’t get in my 45 minutes on the elliptical. I will perish, for real. Other than the pounds lost, I’ve learn to appreciate spinning and to use my snark on women with ass sweat. Which, I should add, is quite unsettling in itself, but recent events give way to more disturbing behavior.

Now, I’m all for changing in the women’s locker room and I really could care less about who sees my boobs; though I will admit the one instance in which my coworker was in the locker room changing at the same time and I turned to face a stranger, rather than have my coworker see my boobs. Because that’s just weird. Beyond all of that, what gets me is the women who feel free to wander around a PUBLIC locker room BARE FOOT. As in sans any sort of protective layer between their feet and a lovely combo of hair/sweat/germs/general deliciousness. These are the same women who go barefoot into the shower. Shower! I am so upset writing this now that my eyes are closed because EWWWWW. Maybe this all upsets me so much because I’ve had my fair share of plantar warts. It was painful and something that taught me to always wear flip flops when at a public pool. Also, I have a severe disgust for…hold on a minute, I’m gagging…hair. The thought of hair on the floor and having my bare feet that are wet with sweat and/or from the shower makes my stomach churn and now I’ve vomited my pad thai.

As if this initial sundae of nastiness wouldn’t be enough, there’s a cherry on top: the small asian woman who took it upon herself to prance – bare foot – from the shower area to the far side of the locker room, without any sort of covering. She also decided that then would be a good time to stand in front of the mirrors in the toilet area, to stare and admire her nude self, leaving the rest of us to admire her tiny ass and pubic area. Sweetheart? Those white fluffy things right there are called towels, use them.

I dare you to scour these lovely images from your brain. You can’t, can you?

Cravings

March 30, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Live your daily life in a way that you never lose yourself. When you are carried away with your worries, fears, cravings, anger and desire you run away from yourself and you lose yourself. The practice is to always go back to oneself” – Thich Nhat Hanh

I need a vacation. Not one of those full on Sandals with a pool bar types of vacations, but just some R&R. But since it’s too a yet to be divulged location (which you are welcome to guess), I shall leave it at that. Though it is home to a bevy of burritos, margs and bars. All of my favorites.

Also needed is my kayak to be ordered. A kayak of the inflatable persuasion that can be used on rapids and serene lakes and can hold up to two people. My first semi-adult purchase that I don’t need parental approval for. I’m already thinking about all the glorious places that I will be taking this kayak.

These thoughts of travel and kayaking give way to thoughts of oak bluffs. I don’t ‘summer’ anywhere. But I do bring my golf playing, Polo (the brand) sporting, pearl wearing self to vacation in Martha’s Vineyard. I accidentally – in a Freudian way – clicked on a link to MV and immediately thought of the Black Dog for dessert, ice cream sundaes with G on the beach, my mom’s porch, and “The Mess” for breakfast at Linda Jean’s. It’s hash browns, broccoli, cheese, mushrooms and eggs. It’s also delicious.

I’m just feeling blah and like I need more. When I asked for something, my mother would always retort with “Do you need it? Or do you want it? You don’t really need it, you just want it.” Well right now I don’t just want more, I need more.

What do you crave?

In Search of Greener Pastures

March 29, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

For the past few years I’ve always been asked whether or not I like my job and/or how I got my job. It’s not like I’m an astrophysicist and getting into the particular field was that difficult, but alas I get asked. The usual response is that I enjoy my job and I got to wherever I am (which isn’t very far) via intense determination to meet my favorite Senator. Sadly, he’s dead now, but that’s about all. I’m all about being humble – no, seriously – and so if friends tell parents that I’m going to be the president (I don’t care how drunk we were, it was still said), my heart kind of stops and I’m sure if I were a little bit more on the lighter side, I’d turn crimson. I don’t understand the fascination that we have with other people’s lives, in particular, always wanting what others have. Yeah, I like my job, I’m doing part of what I want and I’m mildly happy.

Did you catch that? PART and MILDLY. I’m not Judy Blume, I’ve long given up on being married by 27 and I will never weigh 127 lbs. Now go on and guess which on that list I am still just a touch obsessed about doing. At any rate, I’m not completely happy with myself and because I don’t do things half assesd, I sometimes fear that I will never be. After years of saying “I don’t need no stinkin’ man” to my friends, I find myself a little less misanthropic and a little more in need to get some. And by ‘some’ I mean ‘ass’. Yes I am announcing to the internet that I need to get some ass or at least I need some friends who aren’t in the ass getting business to commiserate with me over bottles of Syrah.

But alas, I don’t have those type of friends. I say this like all of my friends have left me to die in some desolate place. It’s not that bad, but I was forced to perform a pre-emptive strike (in some sort of irrational PMSing haste) on one friend, because now that she’s dating, she won’t be readily available for los burritos and that leaves me stranded. By the way, this is the same friend that recently announced to a set of parents how proud she is of me and how great I am and that I’m going to be president. No. How about you become President and I get some ass? Though awesome as my life may seem, it ain’t and I’m woefully convinced that the grass may be significantly greener on her side.

I could go on and on about this, but I’m too busy running away in search of the nearest browniecarrot sticks and dip. Yes, it’s that bad.

*I couldn’t find a quote for this post, so anyone who picks out the perfect quote wins my undying love and affection.

Incoherent Ramblings

March 29, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Some persons are very decisive when it comes to avoiding decisions.” ~Brendan Francis

At around 3 AM, I woke up in a panic because I thought I made a poor decision. The thing is that it wasn’t even a MAJOR life altering Audrey Raines will die, kind of decision, nevertheless I was up for a good 20 minutes trying to figure out what I wanted to do over the next three and a half years. It’s not like three and a half years is a particularly long time, but by the end of that time span I will be 25. Then I go and think back to my youth (which was like 2 years ago) and remember how I used to picture my life at 25. Married. With Children. Then I laugh maniacally because that’s the dumbest shit ever and go back to my dream of being chased around Crossgates Mall by some maniac.

Dreams about Crossgates make me homesick but not so homesick that I’m now uber-excited to head up there, but excited enough to say “whoot Albany” and do a little jig. But then again, I kind of have to go home so that my busted ass disgusting car can get fixed, because the duct tape isn’t working out too well. Which leads me to call my mother to tell her that I called her mechanic (it’s a mechanic on wheels that comes to you whenever and it’s the best thing since sliced bread), and she asks how I got his number and I’m all like “This fabulous thing called the INTERNET”.

Moving on now to dealerships and why I hate them and now I have to (maybe) go to one to get my fucking car fixed. My last foray into car dealerships ended with me leaving abruptly and the geeky car salesman guy, who was terrible beyond comprehension, tried to hit on my friend. After I did the abrupt leaving because I hated the stupid Xterra anyway and the RAV 4 was so pretty, he a) followed me over to the next dealership (they were on the same property) and b) called me twice thereafter to see if I gave my friend his card and whether or not she was going to call him. So now I just don’t do car dealerships, lest I’m trying to find a date WHO STILL LIVES WITH HIS MOTHER and couldn’t sell a car to save his life.

The End.

Oh, by the way, I’m now completely convinced that Paula Abdul was dropped on her head a few dozen times thereby rendering her mildly retarded and attracted to every male idol contestant ever, specifically those who sing Train horribly and have disgustingly long hair.

A Mother’s Love

March 28, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Some mothers are kissing mothers and some are scolding mothers, but it is love just the same, and most mothers kiss and scold together.” ~Pearl S. Buck

Two years ago, I took it upon myself to surprise my mother for Easter. I drove the seven hours to Albany, with only my father knowing, and arrived home around 11:30 PM. In my haste and excitement I busted my ass running up our front steps. When I say “busted my ass” I mean I tripped – while on the phone with my mother – and fell up the steps, cutting my elbow, knee, my hand and two toes. When I rang the doorbell, practically in tears, my mother spent a good 5 minutes trying to figure out why the doorbell was echoing on the phone. I told her she was having hallucinations and to open the damn door. She saw me and was happy and exclaimed that there was no where for me to sleep. The hell?

I mean, although I spent the first few days of my life in an honest to God drawer, I had a perfectly acceptable bedroom that had been painted in the Guilderland colors with yellow furniture for accents (It looks cool, I swear). “What do you mean I don’t have a place to sleep?” was the incredulous response. “Well G took your room over, because his is a mess and the basement is a mess, so there’s no place for you to sleep.” She went on to shove the knife further into my tired and busted ass heart to say; “It’s not like you live here anymore Heather Lynn. You have your own apartment and I wasn’t expecting you.” Ouch. This reminds me of the time that she told me – quite recently actually – that she was debating what to do with my bedroom now that I don’t live there anymore.

Fine, fully functional adult with her own apartment, that I understand, but the woman has pretty much been planning my eventual departure and most likely has drapes picked out. I bet ugly ass drapes too that are made out of kente cloth. Ok, I’m lying about the kente cloth part, but if you saw the living room, you’d understand. I should also mention that she has told me that unless I am seriously injured or dying, I’m not allowed to move back home. Trust me, I seriously contemplated it when I spent that whole three weeks unemployed. When told of the idea she replied with an emphatic “Hell no.” Meanwhile G is being molly coddled and probably won’t be asked to leave until he turns 25 and is offered a dowry of some sort.

This was all brought to mind this morning when I realized that I hadn’t talked to my mother in like days. Like, I don’t even recall the last time I spoke with her, but I’m assuming it was last week and only after I harassed her assistant. And even then, the conversation was limited to “What do you want? I have a meeting to go to.” That’s the love of a mother people. Don’t be surprised when after my trip home for Easter, she starts referring to me as “Oh, what’s her name…”