Archive for August, 2007

Excursions

August 30, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Va-cay-cay-cay, World Tour

“I travel a lot; I hate having my life disrupted by routine.” ~Caskie Stinnett

Just to make it clear, NO, I do not have any intention of having children anytime in the near future. Those were just fleeting thoughts and it felt rather cathartic to get them out because they were just that, fleeting, with honesty to boot. Have I contemplated some of those things at length? Yes. I was brought up to embrace things like midwifery and decided on adoption after a drunken night alone watching an episode of 60 Minutes wherein the discussion was based on young African American babies not being adopted because they’re black. So I cried and decided right then and there that I would adopt. Random thoughts of midwifery and adoption do not a bun in the oven make. Thanks.

Besides, I’m enjoying my life right now. The ability to pack up and go somewhere at the drop of a hat based on my schedule and my finances that I don’t have to share with anyone else save for the people of Fidelity investments. Other than that I can come and go as I please. In fact, in approximately eight hours I am getting on a plane to San Francisco. Where I plan to play with Stacy and Leah and Simon and possibly don a jacket and scarf in August. Actually my only fear in going is that I’ll never want to return east. And guess what? Without children to be responsible for, I can. See how lovely this thing called independence is? I won’t stay of course, for it will soon be Fall. But I am sure to return because Holly won’t be there and I promised her that if she takes copious notes about Ecuador then I’ll come back to San Francisco. I think that’s a promise we are more than capable of living up to.

And while we’re at it, perhaps I will book a trip to Charles De Gaulle airport and then traipse around the City of Light for five days eating croissants and purchasing scarves from Hermes, because I can. So you see? I’m perfectly content being child free, as it gives me ample opportunity to practice my wine drinking skills across the globe. And what the hell, maybe I’ll go to Southern California and Chicago as well. I’m feeling wild like that.

Vicariously

August 29, 2007 | Filed under: Comes And Goes, Humdrum, Socially Awkward Barbie™

“Any emotion, if it is sincere, is involuntary.”  ~Mark Twain

During our last night out together, Marci made a bet with me that I would find myself dating seriously in one year’s time. For she truly believes that I will and should have no problem with putting myself out there and navigating the windy, tumultuous roads of dating because I’m swell and everybody loves me.  Oh she of great faith, precious. If not, then she would owe me a dinner at the restaurant of my choice. I sat and pondered this with the corners of my mouth turning upwards, dreaming of the deliciousness that is Filomena or perhaps Fahrenheit or hell, why not live it up and enjoy the wonder that is Komi? She scoffed and was incredulous the fact that my dating life has ended with ‘or lack thereof’ for years.

I’d prefer to stay intact and avoid drama at all costs. There’s also a bit of a self-deprecating factor to it all that keeps me from placing a toe into the freezing waters of dating. Frankly it’s just something that doesn’t cross my mind until someone else brings it up and I often appreciate the fact that I’m not like most 23 year olds, solely on a quest for ass. I’m ok with going a majority of my life not worrying about some venereal disease I may have contracted at in bathroom at a bar in Dupont.

Though lately, I’ve been living through my friends. Experiencing their first forays into new relationships while doing a happy dance at every small victory. For each kiss that they receive or the good dates that they cannot help but be giddy about, I am just as happy for them. It’s easier for me to live vicariously through them than to embark on any dating myself because of that fear of getting hurt or fucking up or not living up to anyone’s standards of perfection.

I’ve always claimed not to date by choice, which is true. I choose not to based on a myriad of reasons that are probably bullshit including not having my life together (who does?). All of which are a manifestation of some sort of fear I have towards the whole dating thing. If I could put my finger on it, I would and then I’d get over it, but alas I cannot. What I am certain of is that the feeling of fear begins to abate when sitting at home, alone, babysitting, eating birthday cake while watching a double feature of Something New and The Holiday. Then suddenly the fear I’ve always held on to and the thrill of living vicariously through friends turns to melancholy and I’m envisioning the rest of my life alone with all the birthday cake with pink butter cream icing in the world and about seven dogs to keep me company. Suddenly losing a bet doesn’t seem too bad.

I plan to pass on my nerouses

August 27, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Straight Jacket

“The trouble with most people is that they think with their hopes or fears or wishes rather than with their minds.”  ~Will Durant

I’ve been contemplating progeny as of late. Which might give one false hope that I have found someone to procreate with or that I’ve turned 35 or that I’ve become delusional. I think the last one describes my train of thought as of late to perfection. That is because for years I was quite delusional in thinking that by 24 I would have made my television debut on The Real World and that it’s a perfectly acceptable age to get married and have children.

I also once believed that a large white man came down my non-existent chimney to deliver presents with tags written in the same exact handwriting as my mother’s. Odd.

So you see, I’m prone to believing things but have managed to get past that faulty logic only to spend the years – decades, perhaps – prior to even having children painfully agonizing every aspect of my future parenting skills. Thus far I’ve analyzed parenting without marriage, adoption, the use of a midwife and whether or not I could handle my child screaming at the top of his or her lungs because of…I don’t know…whatever small children scream about. Like, the way the wind is blowing and why someone had the audacity to touch their perfect pile of twigs and leaves. I just don’t think I’ll be able to handle that shit without completely losing mine.

In fact I’ll probably end up with children who behave just as I did in my youth. Remind me to have my mother tell you of the great grocery incident of 1985. A story sure to cause a mass hysteria of sudden tubal ligations across the land.

Really, I’m not sure why I am pondering it and yet I have been and at length, only to confess of it now in hopes that I’ll stop questioning how I am going to parent a person who is light years away from actually being thought of really seriously. Not this kind of crazy talk, but like SERIOUSLY. Especially since I’m really only good with very few children, one of which has spent the last year simultaneously pissed off because I’m in his space and giving me kisses. See, children? They perplex me. I probably shouldn’t one. Even more interesting is that I was born to a woman who literally hated with almost every fiber of her being the thought of having children. Then she had one – me – and realized that it wasn’t so bad so she had another – G – upon which she quickly learned from that mistake and stopped. Or so I would imagine.

Regardless it’s a silly, silly thought process that’s taking up valuable space in my head. Space that should be reserved for the eternal Canon/Nikon cage match and what to pack for my mini-vacation later in the week. Also if I keep thinking about it more, I’ll get into personalities and then holy motherfucker, I could end up with a child JUST LIKE ME. And trust me when I say that a child like in anyway similar to me is about as pleasurable as a swift kick to the stomach by a large horse.

Vapid and proud

August 23, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, Familia

“Writing is a way of talking without being interrupted.” ~Jules Renard

Before I went to Oklahoma, Sarah wanted to make sure that when the awkward “so how do you all know each other” question came up that there was a good answer. Shana and Susan at least had a plausible reason to be there and I am just this person who flew in from NY for the weekend because I heard there would be free cupcakes and I am all for free food.

She decided that she would tell people that we met at a scrapbooking convention in Reno. Of course I went along with this because I find nothing more interesting than finding cute stickers to put along side my photos of a night out in Madrid when I punched my friend Mo in the face (The reason? Because he is a male). At one point someone asked the dreaded question and I managed to keep from blowing my cover by inserting half of my face into a glass of wine. The cover was blown and Sarah said that she met me because I write about personal finance online and she had been reading me.

Let me tell you what people do when they find out you “write about personal finance” online, they start asking you for advice such as whether or not to put their money in a high yield but risky international money market account or how to start their 401(K). I have no fucking clue. In fact my “writing about personal finance” is less writing and more complaining about being broke and lamenting on the price of organic foods and then complaining about being broke then hitting up a Kate Spade sample sale. I am not Suze Orman so I wouldn’t consider anything I write (Do ubiquitous run on sentences full of bullshit count as writing?) to be good advice or anything worth reading in fact one should make great strides to ignore the girl that believes that cantaloupe should cost $9.00.

I’ve been receiving all of these personal finance/quarter life whatever books for research purposes. Garrett asked me if I was writing a book to which the answer is no, unless I can write a picture book while being petulant for 350 pages. The reason for the research is to give me more ideas of what to write about given that apparently people from Yahoo! think that my complaining (the word ‘write’ is so not what I do. I’m a shitty writer but a fantastic complainer) about money is so great that they asked me to complain over there as well. I will admit to being shocked because I didn’t know there was a market for broke ass 23 year olds who are experts in not saving money. Though in truth, I’m more than willing to share that time I couldn’t afford a bed so slept on the floor for seven months if it will teach another 20-something to save the proper 10% of their paycheck, lest they want to spend weeks on a twin size mattress in the middle of January in close proximity to a mouse.

My parents know of my new writing and have been telling everyone they encounter that their daughter now writes complains for Yahoo! Which whatever, I’ll let them have their dreams and proud moments because it’s better than the time my father googled me and found out about my proficient use of “c-u-next-Tuesday” (ahem) and that I sometimes drink so much I throw up. As I’m pretty sure that was his proudest day as a father.

My family doesn’t read my complaining and frankly they think I’m boring as shit. Or as G put so well “Apparently the rest of the world finds you more interesting than your family does.” Never have truer words been spoken.

World tour

August 22, 2007 | Filed under: Blogology, World Tour

“I travel not to go anywhere, but to go. I travel for travel’s sake. The great affair is to move. ~Robert Louis Stevenson”

This wasn’t meant to be the start of a “World Tour” and I’m not adding venues to the list. These things kind of just happened and I’m considering myself lucky that if I want to fly out to San Francisco on a whim, then I have three lovely people who would tell me to come on down. It actually reminds me of that time Schnozz flew around the country and I was slightly envious because for years I never went anywhere, thus leaving me continuously subjected to the sites and sounds of Capitol Hill unless I made a rare appearance in Virginia. Now I’m going places alright, like to an island called Manhattan (spontaneous, I know) and far west of the Mississippi with a double shot of California. And then perhaps a trip ACROSS THE ATLANTIC.

By the end of it I’ll probably be fatigued but I’ve been holding up well and nothing is broken and I can handle a hangover on a plane quite awesomely thankyouverymuch.

What I enjoy most is the opportunity to see people in their homes and “where the magic happens” (So you craft all of your witty posts from a desk surrounded by Bionicles?? Here I pictured you at a desk listening to Chopin with a glass of chardonnay).  I’m always interested to see how people live and why not take that one step further by visiting them. Though suprisingly, when I arrived at Chris’ last week and she saw my car the conversation went something like this:

“You have a car!”

To which I replied “umm, yes how did you think I was going to get here?”

“But you have a car, like with real stuff. I’m just so used to you only being in the computer.”

Which is true, there’s the semi-anonymity that we all have even though we share our lives with words and pictures but still at times it can feel like make believe. Chris lives in a house with seven children, though it really doesn’t feel like seven children when you see them all. And she only had them for slave labor like cutting up vegetables for dinner and picking blueberries. Even her four year old lamented “And we couldn’t even go outside.” Sarcasm aside, she has a life that I’ve read about, but doesn’t feel ‘real’ until I’m picking blueberries with her children and ripping bricks from her backyard (See? Slave labor).*

At least she gives them the good stuff

Anyway, I’m racking up the frequent flier miles while simultaneously running my car into the ground, thus giving me reason to get rid of it. Also, I lied about no more new venues being added, since last night Isabel convinced me to test out other parts of the state that I didn’t know existed since I apparently live in a bubble. And trust me, if Isabel Kallman asks you to do something, just try to resist the charm and the pretty and say no. I dare you.

*For the record, Chris Jordan’s house is like being a summer camp if summer camp had pinot grigio and m&m ice cream sandwiches. I love Chris Jordan’s house and now she and Susan Wagner are going to have to fight for my love.