Archive for October, 2006

The first step is admitting you have a problem

October 31, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“If you’re all alone when the pretty birds have flown, Honey I’m still free, take a chance on me” - ABBA

“What music should I purchase?”

“Ummm, not sure. A little JT maybe” silently hums SexyBack.

“God, don’t ask her”

“What? Why not?”

“Yes, why not ask me?”

Deep sigh “Because she” harshly points index finger at me “Likes Johnny Cash*”

“So?”

“And ABBA”

Big smile and deep breath to fill the lungs with air and with eyes closed and head back, belts out: “So imagine I was glad to hear you’re coming. Suddenly I feel all right. And it’s gonna be so different when I’m on the stage toniiiiiiiiight…”

Rolls eyes, “See?!”

“I think the word we’re looking for here is ‘eclectic’”

I am an ABBA freak. Have you ever heard of those people who would willingly pay millions for them to get back together? That would be me, if I had millions. But there’s something about those opening cords of Waterloo that gets my heart all aflutter. And a rush of joy overcomes me and I sing along. Terribly out of tune of course, but like my life depends on it, while wishing that I had been born just a decade earlier and I sigh. It’s nothing to be embarrassed about, au contraire, it’s something I’ve learned to wear as a badge of honor, that I know all the words to SOS and will belt it out proudly. Not to mention that while Mama Mia has a catchy little tune, Fernando is so much better.

Anyway, I’m sure I’m not the only person in the world who feels that it may have been her true calling to sport gold lycra spandex and an afro, though I’ll admit that if I could pull off the feathered look, I would totally go for it. Ok, maybe the only person to want the latter, but not the only person in the world who has an affinity for a group and/or singer that many would be embarrassed by. Right?

(Crickets)

*maybe later, we’ll discuss my propensity to listen to country and bluegrass daily.

Pessimism

October 30, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Nerves and butterflies are fine - they’re a physical sign that you’re mentally ready and eager. You have to get the butterflies to fly in formation, that’s the trick.” ~Steve Bull

During brunch yesterday, I was called cynical. Or rather that my writing is quite cynical, which I will gladly admit that it is. I’m cynical and woefully pessimistic, especially at the present moment. Except that it’s all hitting me now. All of my grandeur notions and dreams and…bleh…fantasies of the next few weeks going smoothly, have been tossed out the window. Only to be replaced by dread and doom of apocalyptic proportions. I don’t need to hear that things will be fine and that it doesn’t really matter. Because it fucking does matter and it is a really big deal. I want to shake people when they forget or when they cast aside my personal feelings on something just to shrug it off as if I’m some crazy person who is continually blowing things out of proportion. While yes, that might very well be true, it doesn’t make how uneasy I’m feeling right now, any better. It doesn’t make me any less nervous or anxious or cause me to become a rational person, when lambasted for feeling this way. Why can’t I just be nervous and fretful in peace?

Now excuse me, I have some additional lamenting to do, but I will try to keep it to myself.

And you could always nominate me for a Hoagie if you have any interest in making me feel better. Ahem.

Don’t cry for me Argentina

October 27, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Is that a birthday? ’tis, alas! too clear;
‘Tis but the funeral of the former year.”
~Alexander Pope

Oh, did you really think that my red wine loving ass would actually be hungover right now and/or in the fetal position in an alley in Adam’s Morgan? Alas not. I actually spent my 23^rd birthday evening with a very good looking blond. Like really, really good looking, jaw droppingly handsome and so very sweet.

Swoon.

I’d show you a picture but because the internet is apparently chock full of assholes full of more vitriol and hate than I could ever, ever claim to have, so I cannot. But my God, you should be jealous.

Tonight there will be gnocchi, camembert and wine with some of my favorites (though you two and you know who you are, will surely be missed) and I will not think about being dramatic or that I’m a bad person or how bizarre some things are. I will enjoy myself and be very willing to start this 23^rd year with an open mind and I might even remove that protective barrier I’ve come to know and love.

So, thank you all for the wonderful birthday wishes and have a most splendid weekend.

P.S. Have you heard of the Hoagies?? No! Then get the to Heather Anne post haste

P.P.S. What?! You’ve not heard of Heather Anne?? Ohh, so you’ve been living under the same rock that I’ve been under. The light, it’s so bright…

They say it’s your birthday…

October 26, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“A birthday is just the first day of another 365-day journey around the sun. Enjoy the trip.” ~Author Unknown

November Horoscope, courtesy of InStyle:

(My thoughts, commentary and embellishments included once again for dramatic purposes, boredom, exhaustion and because I fucking can)

You’ll have plenty to celebrate this month (and year) as good fortune comes your way.
(Newsflash! Hell freezes over! Pigs fly!)

Unexpected news about a relationship arrives around the 4th; you may make plans to marry your romantic partner or enter a new business alliance.
(A relationship? Which? Probably my relationship with red wine. I knew that it was getting too much with one of us physically abusing the other. But the other half of this relationship just couldn’t walk away. It will get better, promise.
Making plans to marry a romantic partner would imply actual romance other than my intense relationship with grapes and dill havarti.
A new business alliance is highly unlikely unless I finally get that McDonald’s franchise I’ve always dreamed about. In fact, I have always dreamed of that. Owning a piece of the golden arches is every young girl’s fantasy. Maybe we should worry about my relationship with fries, fish filets and diet coke?)

You are also entering a strong financial period, so invest in upgrading your looks.
(Exactly how strong is this financial period?? Because depending on said ‘strength’ I’ll invest in my looks, the stock market, a home in Belize, psychotherapy, cable, the aforementioned McDonald’s new boots, an actual bed, pants that fit, a hair cut, a smart car, the Giants and TiVo)

Make an appointment for eyelash extensions, or splurge on those gorgeous brocade pumps and you’ll soon be basking in compliments.
(I shall invest in brocade then, better wit, more intelligence. All while shedding my cynicism, narcissism, pessimism, materialism and insert any other inhibiting –ism here)

(I shall also invest in Tylenol cold and sinus, Theraflu and a most excellent 23rd year)

(Happy Birthday to me)

Because four years isn’t nearly enough time

October 24, 2006 | Filed under: Socially Awkward Barbie™

Edit to Add: COUGH, COUGH. Ahem. Especially that fourth category, unless you are voting for Heather Anne, and then I guess that’s ok.

“The past is strapped to our backs. We do not have to see it; we can always feel it.” ~Mignon McLaughlin, The Neurotic’s Notebook, 1960

If there were a group called Over thinkers Anonymous (OA™); I would be its President with much fanfare and praise for those with the uncanny ability to think about things until they become obsessed in hopes for preparing for every single outcome possible. It’s a wonder that I didn’t do well in math given my propensity to figure out the probability of all things to come. Which brings me to why I’m suddenly obsessed with my ten year high school reunion. “But surely she jests” you scoff “For she’s a mere babe”. True, yes. My ten year high school reunion will be in 2011. But I feel like I must have adequate time to prepare for such a thing. I need something to be proud of and talk about despite how well I can hold my liquor.

Thus the reason for during those rare occasions home, I tend to shy away from any location where I might run into someone from high school, because then I might be forced to speak in coherent sentences with proper structuring. And God forbid, I pepper my speech with the ‘f’ word and my thoughts on Malbec, because I really have nothing else to say. Not necessarily because nothing is going on but because…well…I just don’t know what to say to these people, short of ‘durrrrr’, which is the primary reason for moving 400 plus miles away to a city where I have my own (relatively) happy life.

Fast forward to a random Sunday a few weeks ago, I was headed towards Dunkin Donuts (for coffee) after the gym. I’m a Dunkin Donuts whore from way back in the day, when I used to skip math class and head over to the closest DD in my minivan to smoke Marlboro lights and procure hazelnut coffee. A rebel, I tell you. So while headed to the Dunkin Donuts, looking disheveled (natch) I looked up and saw a familiar face. The face of someone with whom I had spent hours with in the library of Guilderland High School, commiserating over our disdain for Honors English and his disdain for Hillary Clinton and well, there was that time he came out of the closet. But there, he was, standing at the door of Dunkin Donuts in DC staring back at me. And I was in lycra and sporting a pseudo fro held up with a headband (Men of DC: Call me!) and so I had to endure small talk dressed as such, and laden not with spontaneous ‘fucks’ but with ‘durrrr…donuts…Albany’ (Men of DC: I’m a great conversationalist, to boot!)

Fast forward again to a random Monday night, Columbus Day in fact, during a quickie trip to the Urban Outfitters in Gallery Place. I was hot and sweaty in cashmere and oily because my t-zone hates me after 11 AM and frizzy hair because my hair hates me…oh, about 24/7. And it was during this quickie trip that the line was 30 people deep and there was one lone employee at the register. Up at the front was a girl purchasing 450 items including – and I’m loathe to write this – leggings. Green leggings. So I am now sweaty and annoyed and oily and frizzy. The lo and behold the girl at the front of the line whips around and stares right at me. My heart skips a beat with the recognition of another! Person! From! High school! And I quickly put my head down in deep prayer of hope that she won’t realize that it’s me, to which she yells out “HEATHER!” To which I reply with a meek “hey” with that added oompf of “oh holy mother fucker”. And I cringe and want to curl up in a ball and forget about my fabulous sweaters. But I stick it out through small talk and exchanging of cards and me whimpering inside.

You see the problem with all of this is that I wasn’t cool in high school and have never been cool. I am friends with cool people, but I? I am as cool as Velcro sneakers and aquanet, not that I was actually alive for the advent of aquanet, but you get my point. And so to see people from high school in my territory gives me hives and makes me want to die a little inside. Not because it was such torture and the teen angst, though I did listen to a lot of Greenday, it’s because my brain doesn’t compute. It doesn’t understand that high school was over June 24, 2001. And that a hell of a lot has happened since then and while I may still not be cool (Men of DC: Check out my crazy HTML coding skills!) or anything, I’m probably different and smarter and I chock full of vitriol and funny stories and a collection of Coach bags, but I still have that fear that ‘they’, whoever the infamous ‘they’ might be, will hate me and snicker.

So! I have four(ish) years to further analyze and obsess, invest in Murad skin care and teach my hair to lay the fuck down already. And adding a few more Coach bags to the collection couldn’t hurt.