Archive for October, 2007

New leaf

October 19, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum

“If in the last few years you haven’t discarded a major opinion or acquired a new one, check your pulse.  You may be dead.”  ~Gelett Burgess

In the interest of full disclosure I tend to fall on the anal retentive, must think about every bit of minutia, side of things. Every hand gesture or unreturned call or email or message left unanswered leaves me feeling uneasy inside. It makes then sit down and contemplate I could have done wrong and I fret and lie awake going over previous events on a continuous loop, trying to think of ways to make ‘it’ better even though I don’t know what ‘it’ is.

I’m a few days shy of 24 and I have been continuously surprised that as people age their behavior doesn’t necessarily change for the better. Instead of being 15-year old brats they turn into 32 year old brats. Upon first realizing that people over the age of 30 could be just as cruel and nasty as the common eighth grader, my chest did that all too familiar tightening and I got a lump in my throat, because I could never really escape that middle school frame of mind. No matter the age, there are always going to be mean and heartless people who are unable to effectively convey what they want and need or what troubles them. So instead they revert to a more childish state and pulling the silent treatment, which, I will say, I have no problem with, because the fewer people that feel the need to speak to me and relay nothing but negativity, the better.

One might think that I’m angry right now. I’m not angry just frustrated by people and their behavior. My only recourse though is to say that’s on them. It’s not my problem and I can’t make it my problem. I can only work on my behavior and my ability to tell people in a more polite manner than calling them…I don’t know…racist cunts (not that that’s occurred recently. Maybe.) but instead to just relax and say fuck it. I can’t be in charge of everyone else’s behavior. More importantly, I cannot succumb to the feelings and misgivings of everyone I encounter because it generally just comes back to bite me in the ass.

My resolution for myself for the upcoming year is to worry less about the behavior of others and to not look into every little thing like my life will hang precariously by a sliver of a thread until I know why exactly someone didn’t write me back or call back or even held a door open for me. I would like to just take things for what they are, call them like I see them. Some people are cowardly bitches who hate confrontation some people are just nice and polite and their mothers taught them to hold their hands out for a lady exiting a cab.

And that is that.

Diminishing Marginal Utility

October 17, 2007 | Filed under: Mmhmm That's Right, The District Of Columbia, The Great Moving Caper

“Very often a change of self is needed more than a change of scene.” ~Arthur Christopher Benson

Part of my major was Economics and though I did well in college level economic courses in high school, college was significantly more difficult. I retain very little information when it comes to math or science, which is why my attention span for the production possibilities frontier waned after the first 20 minutes. Those precious moments were instead used to think sweet thoughts of J. Crew and how to perfect a keg stand. The one thing I will always recall is the law of Diminishing Marginal Utility (DMU). With ‘utility’ being satisfaction, the premise follows that as a person increases their consumption of a product, there will be a decline in the satisfaction (utility) that the person derives from the consumption of each additional unit of that product. It’s the law that keeps Chinese Buffet in business as they know that while it’s technically ‘All you can eat’ no one is going to eat seven plates of orange, MSG filled, faux Chinese ribs even if the first plate is so awesome, the subsequent plates of ribs will be less awesome and then you’ll you want to vomit. Not that I know from personal experience or anything.

Lest you think that I’m extolling all of my economic knowledge on you, I have been finding that DMU applies to most everything. Like on Sunday, when we went apple picking, Matza and I each bought a dozen hot apple cider donuts. In years past she had to overnight them to me individually wrapped in order to retain their delicious freshness and I would have one – who the hell am I kidding? Three – and share the rest. I was able to eat them fresh out of the bakery this time so we both had one in the car on the way to the apple trees. Then because I was doing most of the work and demonstrating my flexibility by arching my back to get under a tree to a perfectly shaped apple, I was exhausted at the end so I had another. Then I got home and The Roommate wasn’t there so while watching Tell Me You Love Me, I had two more. There were other insignificant events that mostly involved me sitting in front of google reader and then going to the gym but each time I felt inclined to have a donut even though by the 10th (I shit you not), the allure of the crispy outside and the soft cake-like inside made me want to die. So I did what any smart woman who doesn’t need a larger ass would do; I dumped half a bottle of Downy Wrinkle Releaser on the last two donuts. On Monday, I survived on two apples and a bowl of peas.

I’m writing this from a hotel in DC, where my satisfaction of coming back to one of my favorite cities in the world, has significantly declined. The first time I came back to DC it was great, the second time still pretty good; I could see my friends, shop in Georgetown and buy as much organic seven dollar oatmeal from Whole Foods as I wanted. This trip will last until Saturday and it is my fourth in two months. If DC were donuts or plates of lo mein from the Chinese Buffet, I would have wretched all over the bathroom floor by now. It’s not that I don’t love it here, because I do and everything will always and has since compared to DC, it’s just that I have had this very large tub full of sweaters and boots sitting in the middle of my bedroom floor for like six weeks now. Every morning I have to choose which side to get out of bed based on what I fancy ramming my toe into that morning. Will it be the suitcase full of God knows what? Or maybe I’ll go for the hamper and the box of books? It’s like a fun little guessing game I like to call “How will I fuck up my toe?” and my big toe always loses.

At a fundraiser last night, people couldn’t believe that I lived in upstate NY and continually asked if I was happy and if it was good and how in the world people survived outside of the beltway. The answer is very, very easily. I might complain and compare and might punch the next person who tells me in excruciating detail what it will be like the first time I try to park in my neighborhood after it snows; yet my satisfaction of being in upstate NY has yet to diminish, in fact it’s finally starting to show.

October

October 15, 2007 | Filed under: Fotografias, This side of the Hudson

“It was one of those perfect English autumnal days which occur more frequently in memory than in life” ~ P.D. James

As part of my quest to become reacclimated to Upstate NY, I did what any good New Yorker would do; I went apple picking. I also saw a dead turkey and almost hit a horse.

Welcome home.

Upon remembrance of you

October 12, 2007 | Filed under: Familia

“The faintest waft is sometimes enough to induce feelings of hunger or anticipation, or to transport you back through time and space to a long-forgotten moment in your childhood. It can overwhelm you in an instant or simply tease you, creeping into your consciousness slowly and evaporating almost the moment it is detected.” ~Stephen Lacey

When I met them, they lived in New York, but they were all southerners. Three from Alabama and one from West Virginia and so I try not to make jokes about kissing cousins but I’m sure they once regaled the stories of farms and hot nights on the porch, working in coal-mines and the time a tractor ran through the house.

My memories of them – my grandparents – are mostly foggy with a hint of sunshine and clarity every now and then. Everything is in pieces and out of place and probably a story I’ll never remember. I can think of the grapevines in my maternal grandparent’s backyard in Queens. I loved grapes then as much as I do now. My grandfather took us to McDonald’s each Saturday. He would get a chocolate shake and I would get a Big Mac. Garrett and I had walking sticks for our tours around the neighborhood to keep away dogs. The sticks were like checking under the bed for a monster before turning off the lights; completely ineffective and still I believed.

The summer he broke his back and the lung cancer was discovered, my mother and I went to visit him in the hospital. My mother was performing her power of attorney duties and a doctor asked whether or not he wanted to sign a DNR. While most things about him are a blur I distinctly remember him saying, “If the good Lord wants to take me away, then I’m ready”. He died the day after Christmas and his funeral was held on New Year’s Eve. I now hate New Year’s.

He is the one I remember the best. I know that we spent the most time together and that he let me drink his coffee and bought packages of lollipops and always said that it was “grand day.” He was my mother’s father and unlike my grandmother, he didn’t ask what color I was when I was born. He liked the coconut rabbit cake my mother made for Easter and the first time the World Trade Center was bombed, he let me and Garrett stay up late and slide down the stairs in laundry basket covered by a blanket. He was the first person to ever use the ‘N’ word in front of me during a thirteen hour car drive to western Alabama. He always wore a hat and flannel shirts. He used powdered shaving cream and allowed me to perch on the sink next to him while he mixed the green paste together and whistled away.

The other day Danielle and I were discussing grandparents and she said that she couldn’t imagine what it would be like for someone who never met their grandparents. That is something I will never know but then I can’t help but wonder if it’s as difficult as trying to remember things about them once they are gone. The little things that at one point were incredibly insignificant but now are permanently etched in the mind. I don’t remember the color of my shirt yesterday but I can’t help but thank God, every time I remember what my grandfather smelled like and to smile when I come across a bar of Irish Spring.

The hits keep on coming

October 10, 2007 | Filed under: Humdrum, Whoopdie Doo

“Enjoy the little things, for one day you may look back and realize they were the big things.” ~Robert Brault

Last week, Metalia had the pleasure of watching me stare at this man, then declare my undying affection for this man, then stare for a few moments more turn back and say “I’m going to have his baby” as I took a large swig of grey goose and club soda and then declare that for the life of me, I am unable to remember the name of the future father of my children.

When the man caught my eye and waved me over, he went in for a hug. A lingering hug during which I – with all of the modicum of grace that I am capable of – allowed vodka to slosh over the sides of my high-ball glass. I apologized profusely and he laughed and claimed that his suit was due for a dry clean anyway. As a true testament to friendship, Metalia then swooped in and introduced herself so that I could once and for all learn his name, as I stood off to the side meticulously keeping my free hand over a festering and embarrassing pimple and pretended to make small talk.

Giving details of our talk would only perpetuate a cycle of dissecting every other word and gesture and laugh that occurred in that 15 minute period and the times before when this man and I have had an encounter and the next morning when he once again caught my eye while in mid-conversation and stopped me just to chat. Trying to figure out the hidden meaning behind a gently placed hand is something that we females are often prone to do.
I’m not going to get into minute details and have these lofty daydreams of a white wedding based on a few conversations and a promise of drinks - on his part – the next time I’m in town. I can only laugh when I retell this story to friends who become excited, though I’m not sure what to be excited about, and say that he must like me or that we’ll get married.

It is more important to me right now to have fun and to want to go out for drinks and extend an invite to my birthday festivities and to wear the perfect dress. I want to enjoy fleeting moments and those quick touches that could mean absolutely nothing or everything. Who the hell knows? I’m just taking pleasure in wanting to get back into the game and maybe even contemplate dating (maybe). And I would like to do so without stress or deep thought, but with a smile, flirtation and a lot of wine.