Archive for September, 2006

On blogging

September 20, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“No road is long with good company.” ~Turkish Proverb

There was a very serious conversation. During which, I said in complete seriousness – perhaps with a sigh, because how could she not know – “Scar is Mufasa’s brother. Scar has a gaggle of hyenas that follow him. Scar wants to be the King, but instead Simba becomes the king. So Scar kills Mufasa” so on and so forth, until I busted out in a fit of (Pilsner induced) laughter.

Beyond the earnest talk of what exactly Pumba is (a warthog if you’re wondering), there was the usual gossip (you know you do it too), whether or not I should take Robbie’s last name or leave it as is (you know that my boys kick ass), and well blogging (which, you know you do it too).

I’ve met a lot of other bloggers and it’s something that I no longer find odd nor do I think that one of them has an intricate plan to off me, including – but not limited to – shoving me in a wood chipper a la Fargo. Most of those, whom I have met, are now my “real friends.” Far too often, I put my foot in my mouth and say “well my real friends” etc. But they understand what I mean. The line has been blurred far too many times on my part as to my ‘real’ life and my ‘blogging’ life. It’s just my life and nothing strikes me as weird about it and yet for some reason I shy away from discussing it with…well…my ‘real friends’ because I fear what they might think of me and the situation in general. It was difficult enough explaining to coworkers and others why I suddenly fancied San Jose as a vacation destination. Details were needed and yet I could give none. Basically when it comes to discussing blogging, I become elusive as hell and I’ve run out of excuses for how I know “My friend Joe” from some small ass obscure town of which only residents of that state are aware. It’s awkward; mostly because saying that I ‘know’ someone from the internet, sounds so odd. And I’m odd enough as it is, we really need not throw in that I find meeting people that I don’t know, somewhat…gasp…enjoyable.

During marathon babysitting last weekend (which, I’m really not complaining, I adore the kids I babysat for last week, even when they scream loudly in my ear, because the microwave isn’t performing as quickly as they would like), one family asked about the other family I babysit for – what they did, how I met them - and as usual I hemmed and hawed and possibly likened the parents to a novelist and food critic. I shit you not. Thankfully it was left at that, and no mention of the lovely email I sent them stating that I would love to babysit their unborn child (at the time) and I know where they live. Which is fucking weird. But we’re totally past that and it’s hysterical now, but to tell that to a ‘regular’ person makes me look like I should be wearing a white straight jacket type contraption and/or strapped to a table until my valium kicks in.

There’s also the age old persona question. Am I being real or fake? Is my name really Heather? Do I really drink that much and spend that much on alcohol? Real. Yes. And no. I was speaking with another blogger and he alluded to me being of a ‘higher echelon’ than him, because of my constant talk of wine, Kate Spade or Coach and Martha’s Vineyard. Which, HA! Really, do I come off as that pretentious? I’m sitting here typing this in a pair of five year old black gap pants that are way too big and tomorrow I might rock the skirt I bought for my 8th grade graduation. Because hello world! I am so very, very cheap. I buy expensive bags on sale and only because they will last for-fucking-ever. Other than that, I still think that Old Navy is the best place ever. Though yes, I am pretentious about the make up because it goes on my face. My. Face. I suppose I’m harping on that, because I’m always taken aback by what people think of me. Beyond me possibly being pretentious, I am like this – neurotic, narcissistic, annoying, drunk, wholly unfunny, and liberal – in real life. I talk a lot of shit, I say fuck way too much and I call my mother Peg, but mostly in public to get her over the cacophony of ‘MOM’ being yelled out in Nieman Marcus. Kidding, I meant Saks.

Anyway, there was my drinking companion. If you met Lizzie in real life, she’s become your drinking companion as well. Fuck, if you met 99.9% of the bloggers I’ve met in real life, you’d be moved to lick them and pinch their cheeks as well. They are just that spectacular. And hopefully one day I’ll be a little less timid about saying how I met them: Especially when speaking of the bloggers that encourage me to get drunk and then proceed to steal condiments from cheap ass bars.

Turista

September 19, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“City of dreams, you don’t know what it means, to only dream about it, I know” - Marah

My last visit to the National Zoo was on an 8th grade field trip. This is funny, not just because I’ve been living here for five years, but beause I spent four of the past five years, living with in spitting distance of the zoo. And yet, I have not been, not once.

Do you ever forget where you are? There are days when I’m walking down the street only to be stopped in my tracks by a group of Japanese tourists staring at the great phallus symbol in the sky. Oh yes, I remember. It happens more than once, that I look out my window or see David Wu casually chatting with his neighbors and I remember where I live and how much I had always wanted to live here and that people actually pay good money to come to this city only to be accosted for not standing on the right side of the metro. Which: OH my hell. The end.

So, I decided to go out and stand amongst the hoi polloi. Actually, I just really needed a little Tiziano in my life and he and his Venetian painting ass would be gone after Sunday. This leads me to another point - perhaps entire post - about how much I miss Europe. In Europe I spent hours being touristy and letting the Spaniards know that Uggs are the most comfortable things ever, in life, I don’t care how fugly they are. I spent hours staring at Reina Sophia and Museo Borghese and the landscaping and architecture; I dunno, I guess I’ve been spoiled. Being here after seeing all of that – not that I’ve seen much, of that I can assure you – kind of makes me think “eh” when it comes to traipsing around DC. But that doesn’t stop the kids from Duluth Christian Academy from rolling on through:

Dear Diary: II

September 14, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

(from left: Moi, Swiss Kris, Jurgen’s Mama)

Notice how being in the presence of Kris and Stacy makes me do that funny thing where the corners of my mouth turn upward? I think it’s called smiling or something. Actually I think I had already started partaking in the free wine by then. No matter, Stacy is coming and I can share my disdain for all things on God’s green earth with another one of my favorite people.

Here’s to the weekend and thriving liver,

HB

Dear Diary*

September 13, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

*This is your brain. This is your brain on very little sleep.**
**No Pasa Nada: Like a 1987 crack commercial***
***No Pasa Nada: Just say no

“You’ve come this far and I’m still here. Don’t look back. Don’t turn around. Don’t be melancholy now” – JST

Dear Diary,

Today was a generally shitty day. In fact every day is a shitty day even though there’s no need to feel shitty. ‘Holy infatuation, Batman’ to boot.

Also there’s this whole mastectomy business that I still don’t know how I feel about. It’s a lot to process and once I’m done processing I’m sure I’ll be a little more eloquent than “this fucking sucks. Why doesn’t anything go well? Woe is me.”

And finally, this evening I lived my worst nightmare (which is relative given this whole breast cancer thing): See, this morning I went to work in heels because I had a cab take me so I didn’t have the usual flip flops. I had planned to go to the gym after work. When I got to the gym, I realized I didn’t have a shirt with me, but didn’t want to walk home in heels. So what did I have to do? I had to wear the horror or horrors: the dreaded a-line skirt with adidas and socks look that I’ve managed to avoid for the last 22 years and 10 months. Skirt and sneakers. I practically ran down the street. It could have only been worse if I had been wearing stockings.

So yeah, that was my day. Oh and then I got home and choked on a cracker. Seriously, it was pretty bad and scary. Then I played awkward conversation time with the roommate. Fun as always.

It feels like every time I take two steps forward, I take 47 steps back.
Here’s hoping that tomorrow is better.

HB

Favorite Days

September 12, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“’Well,’ said Pooh, ‘what I like best,’ and then he had to stop and think. Because although Eating Honey was a very good thing to do, there was a moment just before you began to eat it which was better than when you were, but he didn’t know what it was called.” ~A.A. Milne

Christmas is always a good one. I love it. I love every Carol of the Bells and wrapping paper filled moment. And being selfish inevitably means I enjoy the presents.

My birthday: Again with the presents and the love and being a wino inevitably means I enjoy the (many) free drinks.

While I enjoy pointing out my general weird traits like ice chewing and listening to ABBA, I am reluctant to mention how much I enjoy days like today. No matter how cloudy or gray, the anticipation of today is always lurking and well, it’s just odd. But here goes: Election Day. I fucking love Election Day. Ok, so today is Primary Day, but I still love it.

I’m less than inclined to hop upon a soapbox and give a lecture on the importance of voting and democracy. But will instead say that it’s the anticipation of what will happen and what can happen that drives me to enjoy it so much. Those who know me in real life know why I feel so strongly about it but this isn’t “real life” or a place for me to divulge all, so I’ll leave it at that.

Besides, the excitement and eagerness for an even numbered year makes me seem less selfish, as it isn’t just all about me. The first Tuesday in November arrives and my heart pumps with giddiness. For once I look forward to a day in which I really am clueless as to how it will end* and it’s a day that is most certainly not about buying me things. While I know that I enjoy my freedom and stickers that proudly say ‘I voted’, several other million people enjoy the same. It’s a day without presents and yet there is fanfare and joy (and sorrow. But let’s be optimistic here, kids) and awaiting the end. Emotions fluctuate and sometimes there are tears but either way Election Day always drives me to want to do better.

Of course all of this is preemptive optimism and come November 8th I might be the most miserable person on the planet. I might even be forced to use the ‘F’ word more than usual. Think optimism and blue, kids.

*Election Day 2004 will always be my favorite. I got to Peg’s hotel room at 4 AM and proceeded to scream, cry and throw things and then scream some more. Picture me livid. Now multiply that by 147 and the square root of 25. I think pissed is the word that we’re looking for here.