Archive for October, 2006

Hello, kind heart

October 11, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Misery is a communicable disease.” ~Martha Graham

For years, I’ve been in denial. Deep denial; for it couldn’t possibly be true. It was a myth perpetuated by other women to make themselves feel better for acting like heinous bitches. That was all. Nothing real, just a figment of the imagination and lo, I sound like a guy again, but I digress. Even if it was true and actually was a possibility, I had never been affected and I could never succumb to it. I’m always mean and bitchy, so there really could be no way for me to become meaner and bitchier. Really though, look at me:

See? Angry and scary and I could kick your ass (also one of the worst pictures ever, so be kind. Really). Ok, no, no I can’t really kick ass and I would never do so. But yes! I am indeed rather surly like most of the time so why would two weeks of the month be any different. Oh but they are. I’ve succumbed to every cranky PMSing bone in my body and have been feeding it copious amounts of Au Bon Pain half priced (after 4:00 that is) pastries and mac and cheese. And last night I ate Chinese food in a way that I haven’t had Chinese food since Clinton was in office.

So, I’m going crazy and stuffing myself with MSG and of course, being the equal opportunity hater that I am, I have spread my loveliness throughout the land (READ: greater Metro DC area and through the internet). Which means that no matter how nice and kind and sweet you’ve been to me, even if you play Johnny Cash for me on command, I will most likely call you a little shit and tell you that I hate you.

I am one very pleasant person as of late. An invariable ray of sunshine for all those that surround me. Though I must admit that today is better. Today I got dressed in something other than cords and clogs and I didn’t stare at my carrots with a look of disgust and demand why (WHY?!?!) they weren’t deep fried and dipped in butter.

All of this is topped with a great big cherry that is my sudden, umm…aversion…to grapes in their liquefied and fermented form. No, really. And apparently I have developed the same aversion to both wheat and barely in that same form as well.

Anyway, I’d say that there’s optimism, but alas there is none. Save for, Stacypalooza v. 2.0 with new java script plug-ins. Well, la-di-freaking-da. And I mean that in the nicest most loving way that I can possibly muster up right now.

And everybody’s a winner

October 9, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“It’s snowing still,” said Eeyore gloomily. “So it is.” “And freezing.” “Is it?” “Yes,” said Eeyore. “However,” he said, brightening up a little, “we haven’t had an earthquake lately.” ~A.A. Milne

I’ve felt so utterly and completely blessed lately. Really now, nothing says “Jesus loves me” like spending an hour, counting the gray hairs on my head (four), while sitting on Rock Creek. If ‘beltway’ is from the Latin for ‘parking lot’ then ‘rock creek parkway’ is from the German for ‘cluster fuck.’ And I am what would be from Old English for ‘bewildered’ which would is ‘amazed’ OR A-fucking-mazed that in a city where most of the inhabitants boast a College degree or higher, no one can drive.

But then this is pot/kettle syndrome again, where in Christmas has come early and I am now the proud owner of an additional parking ticket and a speeding ticket – thanks intersection cameras! I also have learned that I can both text message and make a u-turn (sans turn signal) in the middle of Gallery Place, without hitting a pedestrian.

And apropos of absolutely nothing, I will fight and come on get happy, that is if I can manage to get out of my own damn way once in awhile. You see, I would be happy go lucky and feel actually blessed (which I’ve apparently picked to be my word of the day), if I could stop being awful and just let things go without wanting to pull my hair out. Especially those grays, because then two will grow in their place and the last thing I want is a head full of gray.

There’s really no way to end this save to say that I’ve been singing The Gambler all day long and that last night I had a very difficult conversation with a four year old in which she: a) kept touching my face b) would not close her eyes c) mad me realize that I could do this whole parenting thing until bedtime and then I’d have to resort to tequila and I don’t even like tequila (that much) and d) she told me she would give me all of her dollars because she loves me.

And for those of you that think that it might be great to be friends with me, I can tell you that that would be unequivocally 100% true. As evidenced above, having me around makes my friends feel considerably better about themselves. Because one could be Me or one could be Awesome. And awesome , is a far better option.

Luchar

October 6, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“This fall I think you’re riding for - it’s a special kind of fall, a horrible kind. The man falling isn’t permitted to feel or hear himself hit bottom. He just keeps falling and falling. The whole arrangement is designed for men who, at some time or other in their lives, were looking for something their own environment couldn’t supply them with. Or they thought their own environment couldn’t supply them with. So they gave up looking. They gave it up before they ever really even got started.” ~J.D. Salinger

I’m often a beacon of build up then drastic disappointment. Which means that now would be a good time to mention my often submissive, overly sensitive behavior; laden with spending way too much time allowing for people to walk all over me. I do not get everything I want. I hardly ever aggressively go for anything, because of my laziness and fear and general neuroses. Though Stacy put it best – I don’t feel I’m worthy of being happy, so what’s the point?

This isn’t a pity post. I don’t do things for others to pity me. It’s just a fact of my life that most things have occurred by happenstance and luck. Not because I worked tremendously hard for my freedom and walked 14 miles in the snow, up a hill to get to where I am today.

Today marks the first time that I have realized how badly I want something. Painstakingly and obsessively so. Two things actually, if I really want to put myself out there in the realm of admittance. It hurts to want something and fear – though I have ESP, so I KNOW – that things will not work out and I’ll be left stranded and feeling even shitier than normal. It sucks, but it’s so true.

This also marks the first time that I have realized that both of the ‘things’ that I so desperately want are almost attainable. I can reach out and touch it but I’ll have to work to get that extra inch and have either in my grasp. There’s still the awful nagging feeling that I should give up and that all the extra work and stress isn’t really necessary. What is the point in fighting for something when I know that it will take an act of God to actually reach?

It’s stupid. It’s also very trivial and stupid. I know there are wars and poor Ethiopians etc., but in my little world, this right now, is so very important.

So the choice is this: Head down what might be a slippery slope to very bad things/doom/death in hopes that avid prayer/voodoo/reading of the Torah will help me get what I want? OR give up now, stop trying and retreat back to my room and whimper and never know what might have happened if I hadn’t let my overwhelming consternation get in the way?

I have a sneaking suspicion that a decision has already been made.

Das Peg

October 4, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

The pants

October 2, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre

“Don’t cook. Don’t clean. No man will ever make love to a woman because she waxed the linoleum – ‘My God, the floor’s immaculate. Lie down, you hot bitch.’” ~Joan Rivers

Mel, in the past week, has come home and baked more than once. One night she made 18 cupcakes, leaving six for me and her boyfriend. The next night she made a five layer chocolate cake with some sort of rich butter cream frosting that I know she made from scratch.

At some point she also empties the dishwasher and when I go searching for my favorite Tupperware, I find it tucked neatly among all of the other Tupperware that once was in a pile shoved into a cabinet. She’s found a place for everything including a spot in the bathroom to put all the cleaning supplies, whereas Jam and I just kept them on the floor.

Upon first moving in she cleaned and reorganized the living room, bathroom, kitchen and hall closet. I would come home and she’d timidly ask for my thoughts and I’d shrug. Because I don’t care about the location of our living room furniture, but my god, was I thankful.

She does all of this with a smile while I tread back to my room either drunk or exhausted (or both) and write and sleep. Then she reads her Bible and makes homemade pesto.

I pay the bills. I make sure the rent is in on time. I call the leasing office when shit needs to be fixed. And I reach the high shelves above the fridge, because she’s too short.

It’s come to my attention that in this particular relationship, I wear the pants. I’m not sure whether to be happy to have a roommate to do all the shit I usually put off until Sunday afternoons or to fear for any man that I may end up with. For it will be a rude awakening for the future Mr. HB, when he expects for the bathroom to be cleaned and I hand him a bottle of Clorox and with a little pat on the back and a smile, say “Have at it, champ.”