Archive for December, 2006
Because I can*
December 13, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre
“The best writing style is the style you don’t notice.” ~
I’ve become overwhelmingly concerned with the state of Lulu and Jason’s relationship and less on the state of my Christmas list. I mean, will they or won’t they get together? What will happen with Alcazar? How the fuck did I end up in this strange vortex of having to halt all things when
When my Uncle asked what I would be doing with my new laptop, I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I’d be using it to blog so I’m sure I muttered something and then put my head down and prayed that he would attack G over something, and lo, he did, in regards to G being an Africana Studies major which is a whole different post about that and his Marcus Garvey love and other fun things. So! Blogging! Yes, I do so and rather fervently and at the beginning it was for my friends and family and then it turned into not just for my friends and family. Which I noticed the other day when seeing Elisa (Of Blogher fame as well) speak and someone came up to me and said “Are you Heather?” and then I promptly shoved my hands in my pockets, despite the 98.4 degree temperature and possibly mumbled yet again, something about how yes, I am Heather. And then you all would be proud, I proceeded to complete a quality 45 minutes worth of conversation with several complete strangers, while utterly (and not all too painfully) sober.
And now is a perfect time to mention that one of the people that I was conversing with had been a clown in a ‘former’ life. Clowns scare me in ways indescribable and to the point that I was once terrified to close the door to my bedroom and have the lights off because one would come in and kill me in my sleep, in fact, I’m sure I was once convinced that all clowns did was lure little children to kill them. Of course this clown was a nice one, and I possibly…you know…maybe I had an incredibly fucked up movie experience as a child and watched It (the Stephen King movie that I would link to via IMDB, if it didn’t sport a picture of a deathly clown right on the front, though I’m not sure of that, but I’d rather not risk it) one too many times.
Anyway, I have a visitor coming this weekend, solely for the purposes of shopping with me. I’m not sure where exactly I found her and did I mention the stellar boot collection that I stole from and then had a coworker tell me how stylish this aforementioned visitor is? Yeah. Anyway, the visitor is coming to take me to Anthropologie, something about me losing weight and being a genuinely fucking fantastic individual has lead her to do such a thing. But! While with her I can dissect the above things and the reasons for why segues are such a tough thing for me to tackle. And of course that whole clown thing.
*This post brought to you by my brilliance to write it yesterday afternoon knowing full well that I would be sporting a massive hangover today. Note to self: The quality of vodka doesn’t necessarily mean a different hangover. In fact right now I have another crazy ass hangover which I can feel in my neck and in my right ear. It’s very odd. I asked someone for a remedy and then realized that I could always just drink less, but that’s silly talk.
Posted by nopasanada @ 11:40 am | 11 Comments
I promise to stop tomorrow. Maybe.
December 12, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre
“Did you ever stop to think, and forget to start again?” ~Winnie the Pooh
I’m caught between a rock and a phlegm storm that I’ve been trying to ward off via airborne and water and a myriad of citrus fruits. Yet nothing works and I can feel the snot dripping away diligently down my throat and the mucus just laughs and scoffs. And as with most everything in my life, I’m projecting that this will all lead to a dire and tragic bronchitis/strep thing and none of this has helped my current stress right now, in fact it only makes things worse.
Not that I really have anything to stress over, but it’s just more in the great moments of projection and I’m begninnig to think that spending so much time alone with just a bottle of wine and DVR for company, bodes terribly unwell for my tendency to over think things. Last week, clearly being the best, with the whole being completely ALONE. ALL WEEK. With nothing but the vino and I turned off my crackberry and phone and just spent the week alone in Kris’ apartment obsessing about the inane and using her perfume which is so very Single White Female of me. All the while relishing in the fact that I could walk in, go to the bathroom and not have anyone come in literally 15 seconds after I walk in the door, knocking requesting that they be able to use the fucking bathroom. I also missed out on a weeks worth of ‘Hey there…’ conversations while I’m trying to find my coat or fish the last package of oatmeal off the top of the refrigerator. Case in point: Living alone fucking rocks.
Anyway, without the distraction of other people, sharing my oxygen I’m free to stumble around and with a glass of wine and order Over the Hedge via On Demand and think about every situation and every single solitary outline in such meticulous fashion that I contemplated charts and graphs and possibly began talking to myself. None of this necessitates full on detail of the object of my neuroses, but it all leads back to me just fucking caring. Even when I say that I don’t care, which I say more often and not, out of fear and wanting to protect myself, I care immeasurably and I worry and then I spend my days eating Poptarts and thinking the worse, and caring more and then questioning my ability – which I seriously lack – to convey the ways in which I care and subsequently fear.
Consequently I’ll live up to my title of Biggest Lush (this is the first time I’ve won anything since being elected Anderson Hall representative to the Student Confederation General Assembly during my sophomore year of college. And please stop me when I’ve fully disclosed just how terribly unpopular I have been for my entire life), and drink some more and over think my over thinking (and my Christmas list, because dear lord, I have yet to figure out what I’m getting a single solitary anyone ever and people will hate me and want me dead because I didn’t get them the perfect gift. Ahem) and realize that I still need to chill the hell out and find ways to say things with utmost sincerity and hope that one knows that I mean them.
Posted by nopasanada @ 10:45 am | 7 Comments
And it goes a little something like this
December 11, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre
“Almost all absurdity of conduct arises from the imitation of those whom we cannot resemble.” ~Samuel Johnson
My astute ability at hangover prevention has apparently waned over the past few years. Thus the reason for a residual headache come Sunday. A headache that was the product of drinking nine of those miniature plastic wine glasses full of cheap red wine at a former Professor’s home and then two large, grey goose and vodkas at Science Club, because the drunk the better. I’m fairly certain that my last conversation was with Ms. K over a forkful of chocolate cake thinking fondly of filet – o – fish. Which didn’t exactly prevent the hangover the next morning or come Sunday either.
Ambitious I am enough to meticulously plan out a trip through Friendship on my way to
I follow the ‘kill two birds with one stone’ method of errand running, in which I will get everything that needs to be done completed in one trip and since I was going to be in Friendship I’d stop at Tiffany (as in & Co) to get my bracelet cleaned, because it was rather gross. Umm so, that place gives me hives and also necessitates a few outfit changes (I’m loathe to write that I settled on this subtle Burberry shirt, as opposed to like a fucking coat/headband/bag/scarf combo that I’ve seen others wear. And that last sentence just made me die a little inside. But I digress…) because the last thing I want to do is venture to that end of
Anyway, my bracelet ended up all nice and shiny and I didn’t succumb from a severe silver allergy while there. Oh yes, so very, allergic to silver, actually I’m not sure if I still am, but I’d rather not test the waters and end up with puss filled welts all over my ears/neck/fingers. And while smiling that I survived that trip with my head high and managed to get almost past the Gucci store, where lo, I saw someone that I used to date. In college. Who is a staunch Michael Steele supporting Republican. Who once told me that I was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. And now he’s gay. So I saw him, and whipped out my handy dandy blackberry and practically ran into a very large Hummer.
To recap and bring it all together at the end: I make fairly poor decisions when it comes to the opposite sex and if I stop making these poor decisions and find someone to accept my status as the Biggest Lush in the DC blogging world (There was an actual vote for this superlative and I actually won), then he should know that I would prefer platinum and a solitaire emerald cut diamond setting.
The end.
Posted by nopasanada @ 11:07 am | 6 Comments
Slowly getting there
December 8, 2006 | Filed under: Gruyere With That Wine
“Hey! I tell you what I’m gonna give you, Snakes. I’m gonna give you to the count of 10 to get your ugly, yellow, no-good keister off my property before I pump your guts full of lead! One, two, ten!” – Home Alone
First off, I dutifully and immensely apologize for an entire post dedicated to my disdain for vomit, not to mention that I possibly come off as some wretched bitch who finds comforting sick children to be some sort of chore that she is too good for. Which, no. Thusly, I am every sorry for using the phrase “I pushed him away because the puke was dripping off of my clarinet case”. Really, I am so very sorry and I’m still trying to not gag while thinking about it.
Speaking of clarinets, I bought sheet music a few days ago. Have I mentioned that on my list of mundane activities that I enjoy, buying and playing music is up there along with chewing ice, watching my netflix queue slowly dwindle and well, blogging. It’s truly rather risible really, given that my proficiency in music is that of a second grader with a brand new recorder. Though I was first chair of the clarinet section and I can also play the bassoon and bass clarinet and the piano and now I’m realizing that every day I look more and more like the least popular person ever. Anyway, I bought music, I’m going to play music and it puts me that much closer to being into the season.
Speaking of season (are we sensing a theme here with the masterful art of segues?) I’m almost on the brink of giddiness with it all as I have lined up Home Alone and A Christmas Story along with National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation, to watch over the next week to make me all holly and jolly and such. I figured that finding out that I would not be receiving a Bear Bryant hat for Christmas, would damper my spirit, but alas, it has not though I’m generally just blasé and full of ennui as of late.
So now I am a vomit fearing, clarinet playing, arid brat. But one who is sporting leggings of the footless variety and loving it. In the spirit, I’ll be optimistic and say at least I’ve got that going for me.
Posted by nopasanada @ 10:21 am | 13 Comments
In which I use the word ‘vomit’ eight times too many
December 7, 2006 | Filed under: La Madre
“You can learn many things from children. How much patience you have, for instance.” ~Franklin P. Jones
The first time it happened, I had a boiled egg for breakfast. I knew I didn’t feel well and I told el madre* that I wasn’t well and she told me to get my ass on the bus, but of course didn’t use the word ass for she isn’t a heathen like her daughter. So I got on the bus and someone had hocked the world’s largest loogie on the floor next to me. I took one glance at it and then threw up all over the aisle of the bus. And as we continued to drive a long, it splashed down the aisle accompanied by the screeching of 40 or so elementary aged children. I was promptly brought to Mrs. Ostrander’s office and sent home.
The second time it happened, I was in 8th grade, approximately six years after the first time. That day I knew for a fact that I was in dire need of gingerale and bucket close to my bed and once again el madre shot me the glary eyed look of death that bore holes into my skull and I suddenly was chipper and went on the bus. And approximately 20 minutes later, threw up all over my clarinet case. Again, it went sloshing down the aisle towards the front. When I got off the bus, Jason Stewart, the boy that I had been in love with for two years, stopped to ask me what’s up and give me a hug and I pushed him away because the puke was dripping off of my clarinet case. I was promptly brought to the Nurse’s office and sent home.
I have a general rule that I do not do well with vomit. Once I see vomit, I will vomit, rinse and repeat. For years though, at the drop of the flu, when it – the vomit - was coming out at an alarming and quick fire pace, I could never figure out why my mother would run and greet me with a look of sheer terror. It was like she couldn’t stand to be around me at that time. And instead of soothing me with her gentleness, she would stare at me horrified as if the devil had taken over and was spewing things out of me and well when my head turned 360 degrees, that was the end. If I recall correctly the great kitchen incident of 2002, when G literally had it coming out of everywhere and instead of calming holding her second born and favorite, she hollered at him to not move one inch lest he wouldn’t die of dehydration but because she stabbed him in the face with the heel of her boot because he dared track vomit throughout her kitchen. That’s love, people.
Like I said, I don’t do well with the puke but always assumed that love conquers all and I could be there and be comforting for a little person who had things that he had eaten like two weeks ago coming out of his mouth. So when my poor sweet baby boy**, threw up all over me and the floor last night and then came out into the living room to come find me because all he wanted to do was be held. I turned and said to him, with wide eyes “Dude! Step away”. While he looked pitiful and sad he had his entire dinner (Yes, yogurt comes out in white chunks) all over him and it was on my pants and then he stepped in it. STEPPED IN IT…and so I possibly yelped some more and told him not to move because I needed to asses the situation and not end up with vomit all over my dry clean only sweater. I am nothing if not a loving person and apparently exactly like my mother.
*I’m going to start referring to her as ‘El Madre’ because it’s nicer than using her first name. Formally, “El Madre all around bad ass and coach lover extraordinaire”. For that title commands respect, yo.
**And by ‘my’ I mean, not mine really. Though I do love him immensely, he is not my actual child.
Posted by nopasanada @ 11:32 am | 5 Comments
