Archive for August, 2006

Veinte Dos

August 21, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Age is an issue of mind over matter. If you don’t mind, it doesn’t matter.” ~Mark Twain

Over the weekend one of my favorite people in the world turned 33 and if you are playing along at home, that would make the lovely Marci just shy of 11 years older than I. Obviously, I can over look this, given that she’s already gotten to my list of favorites and to be a favorite of mine is kind of like scoring a 1600 on the SATs: seemingly impossible and yet there are still a few who get it. What can I say? I’m picky (and mean).

To be honest, none of this has to do with Marci’s age and the fact that she looks about 18, even though it’s all spectacular. What it is, is that many years ago, when I was a mere babe, 24 was the magical age. I had envisioned marriage and an actual real life child by the age of 24. I couldn’t tell you how I got that age in my head, I suppose it just seemed perfect and in hindsight it’s beyond ridiculous and makes me want to cry a little bit. Now that I think about it, a lot of things that I thought when I was just a child (HA! Still am one) make me cry a bit.

It’s all apropos of nothing, except to say that now I’m making every attempt to figure out why I was rushing so much. Only now does it feel like rushing because I’m fast upon the magic age and am nowhere near a maturity level where I could actually put forth a child from my womb and raise it not to be an arsonist. In fact any child that I have anytime soon will not only be an arsonist but also a thief for good measure.

The rush to do something by 30 was just there and now…I don’t know…things just feel more fluid. 33 no longer feels “old” and 22 makes me feel like a baby. Thankfully my friends of the over 30 set, love me and I love them and they’ve honestly all taught me to be more grounded and to not stress about that next step. They might read this and think that I’m making backhanded comments about their age and that I have some misconceptions about getting older and that it may not be as easy as they all have made it look. Or maybe I’ve just developed grandeur notions of what getting older really means and it certainly doesn’t mean rushing into things, but more accepting things as they come at you.

I wish I could tell my 10 year old self to rethink things and that 19 – 22 will suck so badly that the thought of doing anything but being entirely selfish and spending way too much at Nordstrom, requires way too much effort. I should also tell her that she’ll end up being the laziest person on earth and will fail biology, so she will never be a doctor. Sad, but true. I would be remiss not to tell her to be really appreciative of everything and that the friends she will acquire are flippin’ fantastic. I mean they must be, to deal with someone who has the maturity of a baby seal.*

*originally I had planned to post a picture of myself - protruding clavacle, oily skin and all - giving Marci the finger at her birthday happy hour. But umm yeah. No.

Adventures in spinsterhood: Part the 485th

August 20, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Solitude never hurt anyone. Emily Dickinson lived alone, and she wrote some of the most beautiful poetry the world has ever known… then went crazy as a loon.” ~ Lisa Simpson

While being of the tender age of 22 doesn’t necessarily resign me to a fate of spinsterhood. And yet what would you call two solid weekends in a row of “Make it work” and “Carry on” with a dash of vino on the side? Indolence perhaps or sheer exhaustion or maybe I just need some solid alone time when I’m not completely depressed and talking myself from throwing myself off of a metro platform. Been there, done that and am over it. But still spending much time alone with my pals Melky and Robinson (they’re in Boston and I am here. They also are completely unaware of my existence) and then the driving range, which is solid time alone but with a large metal stick: Much better to hit people with, my dear.

Who am I kidding though? What I’m really doing is relishing in the finale of my two months of complete solitude in a spacious two bedroom condo. It has been two solid months of putting off doing the dishes for days and leaving my mail strewn about and…well…walking around the apartment SANS CLOTHES a glass of wine (or coffee, depending on the hour). It’s GLORIOUS, friends. I think that in my mind I’m gearing up for The Midterms and the onslaught of a new roommate who will return to red wine splattered all over the kitchen. Note to self: Be careful with the cork, lest you want it floating around in your precious Malbec. Sadly, the roommate doesn’t drink and who I doubt, will be empathetic towards a lost cork. She won’t understand how devastating it is to the wine.

See? I need to get out more.

The above statement couldn’t be more true. All this time indoors with the second season of Tim, Heidi and Co, finds me thinking that Tim Gunn at Red Lobster is the funniest thing ever, even though it’s from like 1858 or something. Second note to self: Get thee out of the house. Stat.

Eight legged freaks

August 18, 2006 | Filed under: Great moments in narcissism, Mmhmm That's Right

“Everyone is a moon, and has a dark side which he never shows to anybody.” ~Mark Twain, Pudd’nhead Wilson, 1894

Though I try to limit my beliefs in the intangible to He who resides up above, I would be remiss not to note a fascination with astrology, particularly my ever so present Scorpio tendencies. Because they are so blatantly there, staring me in the face, daring me to be a vindictive little bitch; just accept it and move on.

And I hate to admit it, but I am a scorpio to a ‘T’ and truly believe I should come with a warning sign tattooed across my chest (You know, for all those times I go around flashing people): Beware: Quick to achieve ferocious anger if fucked with. I also have the passion, the drive, and a propensity to be withdrawn, when really I’m just watching everyone and everything like a hawk*. Passion and drive and intensity aren’t necessarily bad, it’s the obsessive nature, continuously hurt feelings from nothing, and a tendency to do everything to the extremes that I worry about. And of course, I don’t mind an overly sexual nature, which I tend to keep hidden to myself; because do you really want to hear my thoughts on sex every other second of the day? No.

I’ll always tend to put myself out there and yet fear being hurt. I’ll always wonder whether or not someone actually likes me or if I’m just annoying that person to death. I’ll always be a fierce friend but the second things go sour, will be quick to jettison those that cross me.

It’s part of my character to be (woefully) intense but then again, it makes me severely empathetic/sympathetic and compelled to help when I can. I’m over my jealous, compulsive, resentful and secretive behavior and thank God, I have friends that are well aware of these things and have yet to push me off the Sears Tower. That’s because I would be too determined and forceful and woo them with some deep dish pizza that they’ll forget all about me being a raging bitch.

What I hate, and what I’m dwelling over now (SEE?) is the obsessive nature of things. Why I have to be overly introspective and why for the life of me I feel so compelled to make a big deal out of something that is so not a big deal. Ergo the reasoning for why I hate being in the ‘throes of a crush’ even if that crush is purely derived from nothing and thankfully not hardcore doodling and debating to go with his last name or to hyphen my name; but instead a slight interest in another who I am attracted to and would like to get to know better. Though there are plenty of other things to over think that just happens to be at the top of my list.

Though I feel better now that I’ve gotten that out there and I’ve accepted my emotional and sometimes caustic behavior; friends of mine might shake their heads with dismay and question “Sexual? What sexual?” And well maybe we’ll touch on that one day, but not today.

*Which means that I’ve kind of been a tad untruthful**: I’m not really all that shy or socially awkward, I’m really just watching intensely, I only use my glass of wine for a cover.

**So now you know that I’m a bitch and a liar. Wanna be friends?

So I’ve heard

August 17, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“When I was young I thought that money was the most important thing in life; now that I am old I know that it is.” ~Oscar Wilde

I’ve recently been enlightened on this new fangled – to me at least – thing called ‘saving’. Or at least I think that’s the proper term for it. From what I understand, when one receives money for completing a service, instead of spending every last cent of said money on random objects of desire, one puts some percentage or predetermined amount of the full amount tendered into a separate account which then garners – gosh, what’s the word?, Oh yes! – interest. Over time, the premise is to accumulate enough money that in the event of emergency, be it natural disaster or of one’s own stupidity, s/he who accumulated this money and the additional interest, will not have to resort to groveling or begging. At least I think that is how it works, but then again I’ve never been to sure.

Because of this new(ish) phenomenon of ‘saving’ I have succumbed to the demands of my parents, jesus, my own foolish will to budget. I don’t budget. I’ve never budgeted. Hell, I have a problem making a table to use for the budgeting. We’re on a roll over here. This budgeting idea came up after an incident last week known in these parts as Apartment Hell 2006 (t-shirts to come next week!) And let me tell you it was a doozie and really fun. Especially fun when I had to ask my parents, not once, but twice for $1000 from each of them; because I did not have $1000. I did not have $1.

I just don’t know where it goes. I don’t. I get paid, I babysit, the money goes into an account and then two weeks later, I’m trying to spend my last $8 at Whole Foods. Though part of me realizes that that may be part of the problem as well as a little something called alcoholism, wine is not cheap. Well, some wine is cheap, but life is too short to drink cheap wine, so I do not.

This whole budgeting thing has put a bit of a kink in my normally wonderful life where I spend way too much time at Nordstrom. Ahh times were good then. That’s how I would make myself feel better: by purchasing countless pairs of shoes and then proclaiming that they were a necessity and well shoes always fit, clothing doesn’t. Though the budgeting didn’t stop me from professing my undying love for Jeff Tunks last night. In fact he is my crush, so there, now you know.

Anyway, there that is. I’m on a budget and not a damn soul feels bad for me. Not even my mother. My own mother does not feel badly for me, when I have to make a decision between this hoodie or these shoes. A travesty people.

A crush

August 16, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“That’s why they call them crushes. If they were easy, they’d call them something else” – Sixteen Candles

No matter how I word it, no matter the eloquence I attempt or the wittiness I try to portray; there really is no other way to say it than to blurt it out: I have a crush.

(Insert girly screams here)

But actually don’t insert the girly screams, because I am not a girly screamer. Instead of blushing and wooing and awesome amounts of flirting. I retreat and think “oh fuck” because I loathe crushes. I detest the word ‘crush’ even more. But is there a better word? A potential interest? God, I sound awful and woefully pathetic and nothing sounds pretty because it is, what it is, and it’s unfortunate.

I actually get these pangs of wonderfulness toward the opposite sex once a year and we’re being real literal here. Once. A. year. Other than that, I live my life in peace and relative normalcy, not giving a damn about what I may say or do or act, because I only have to think about myself (I’m selfish like that). But when that feeling hits, instead of becoming giddy, I cower and wait for my personal feelings to abate. Because they must eventually.

Why I do this could be accredited to dozens of things from general fear to “daddy issues” but if another uses that term, well, I’ll just have to cut you. Now I find myself sullen and full of blah, because as with the past, it will most likely need to a vast amount of nothingness, but that’s just how these things work.

Now would be an excellent time to cue up reasons for why HB is still single, but then this would be a stunning 275 page novel of why I am so painfully cynical and pessimistic, with annotated footnotes to boot. And we wouldn’t want that now would we?

*And for all of you playing at home, noticing that this is the one and only time in 315 posts that I’ve mentioned any sort of relationship type anything, it’s because lo I am relationship inept and can’t get past the ‘crushing’ (seriously find a better word) phase without going into “HB failure overload” and then the blue screen of death and BOOM.