Archive for February, 2008

Princess of Power

February 29, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“Why, can you imagine what would happen if we named all the twos Henry or George or Robert or John or lots of other things?  You’d have to say Robert plus John equals four, and if the four’s name were Albert, things would be hopeless.”  ~The Phantom Tollbooth

 I get asked about my name more frequently than anything else. Which is funny because my name is neither interesting nor unique. I really have no feelings towards it. I’ll answer to it of course but I’m not passionate about it nor do I think it’s the greatest name in the world and everyone should name their child Heather. My parents on the other hand feel deeply vested to the name which they should since they chose it. When my father - who wanted a girl after two sons - tells the story, he does so with this giant grin on his face as if he cannot believe his own genius. A cousin of mine had a friend named Heather. He heard the name and thought it was “so pretty”. At the time my mother - who wanted absolutely no children whatsoever. I mean EVER in life - liked the name Megan. Her second runner up and I am loathe to write this, in fact I am cringing and dying a little inside as I type this out…she wanted to name me Callie. I won’t tell you the middle name because it’s terrible. Callie is a perfectly fine name but I do not look like a Callie nor do I look like a Megan. Regardless, my father thought he was being all  special and my God, he was brilliant while my mother could have cared less because she was still warming up to the idea of having an actual baby.

 My father ended up giving me the most popular name ever in life and I have spent most of my adolescence going by Heather B. because it turns out that my father and several million other people liked the name Heather. I am addressing this here because on the internets, I get asked whether or not I made up the name Heather B. and uh, no. If I was going to make up a name I’d pick something a little more interesting than Heather. Come to think of it, If I had my druthers I’d go by She-Ra and call it a day.

February

February 27, 2008 | Filed under: Invierno, Sucks like a vacuum

“Winter is nature’s way of saying, “Up yours.”"  ~Robert Byrne

Everyone had that kid in high school. You know, the one that was teased for being geeky and really short. Of course he eventually grows up and his formerly geeky ways manifest into some sort of genius. And now he’s a millionaire and ready to hand out personalized cans of whoop ass to those who teased him mercilessly for being short. He shows up each year for impromptu reunions, still short but now with his very own yacht and super enhanced ass-kicking mechanism.

February is like that kid. Always and forever short but now prepared to wreak havoc on every poor soul who once uttered how useless and possibly annoying the entire month seems to be. February obviously didn’t stop to think that maybe people have been mean to it because it goes around being all violent and kicking people in the head once a year. Perhaps that is why the average person gives it such a fond farewell: Because it will be gone and no longer around to fuck with anyone’s emotions. It’s like it makes up for it’s size by having a larger than life attitude, full of eye rolling, hands on hips and that stupid neck thing to show that it means business despite it’s diminutive stature.

I tell myself to be nice to it and not to egg it on. If I am kind then maybe it will be kind right back. But nope. Misery loves company and February is a miserable little shit who apparently didn’t get enough love as a child. No wonder that come Friday, I will be celebrating its departure with balloons, sparkly confetti and the brightest god damn streamers this side of the Mississippi. And wine. God forbid I forget the wine.

A really long way of saying “So I’m sick. Again”

February 25, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“But when she gets weary, try a little tenderness” – Otis Redding

I am perpetually on the road to hell. I always have good, nay, great, intentions but they are often thwarted by the universe or karma or the fact that instead of being cooperative my body decides that is in no mood for productivity. This weekend was to be decidedly different from the last. Given that I spent all of last weekend schmoozing. Hardcore. Laughing at crappy jokes, eating hotel steamed vegetables and sitting through a three hour dinner with four different national anthems. All the while donning three or four inch heels when I wasn’t running around downtown Albany barefoot. I craved sleeping on flannel sheets and snowshoeing. Perhaps a movie and seeing friends I’ve been MIA from for the past two months.

It all sounds so dreamy now; enjoying the little things and complete sobriety and having the apartment to myself with Simon moving in between my feet while I unload the dishwasher or attempting to chase after me whenever I attempted to leave the apartment.

So imagine my surprise when I awoke at 4 AM on Saturday morning with the distinct feeling of wanting to throw up. I rolled over to the other side of the bed trying not to puke in my bed or on the hardwood. Not that the hardwood was clean but no one wants to clean up puke no matter the surface. I finally shot up out of bed to spend the subsequent hour or so intermittently dry heaving and wanting to toss myself out my bathroom window. And if it weren’t for physics (large body vs. tiny window) I totally would have done it. I hate throwing up (no shit, Sherlock) but I find it even more perplexing that my stomach was revolting against me when I hadn’t been drinking any fermented beverages or caffeine*. And my diet as of late? All I eat is fruit, vegetables and various brown rice products, so what the hell? Someone with a degree in biology or physiology or whatever, please explain to me how weeks of being conscious of what I’m eating and drinking has led to my near death? (Sadly not drinking does NOT lead to the abatement of overdramatic tendencies) (Whoops! Sorry!)

I spent the remainder of the day trying to resist the urge to vomit while listening to Otis Redding on repeat. Every time that awkward feeling came up in my chest – you know, that feeling you get right before you think that maybe you should find some sort of receptacle other than your hands or a glass sitting on the nightstand – I would play Try a Little Tenderness at full volume. For some reason it always makes me feel better. Yesterday I even said to a friend “Sometimes Otis is almost as good as wine.” Emphasis on ALMOST.

New York, New York

February 22, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum, This side of the Hudson

“Thanks to the Interstate Highway System, it is now possible to travel across the country from coast to coast without seeing anything.” ~Charles Kuralt

When I lived outside of New York and a non-New Yorker would ask where I was from, I would reply with a mere ‘New York’ and leave it at that. Of course then the natural assumption is New York City and I found perfectly fine to either correct that person or just smile and shrug and lament on the traffic on the West Side Highway.

If a straight up New Yorker asked me of my origins, there is no way in hell to give a simple answer. They want to know the county or the area code or whether or not you reside somewhere above Rockland County because anything above Rockland County – if say the person asking is from below Rockland County – is considered Upstate. And when responding Upstate it’s good to have a cache of comebacks relating to weather or cow tipping or OMFG where do you catch a cab?!

Sometimes the state doesn’t feel that large and other times I am amazed at the corners of the state that I’ve never stepped foot in. ‘Homogeneous’ would be the last word used to describe the inhabitants. A person from downstate will wax philosophical about how people from ‘upstate’ aren’t real New Yorkers. (Which of course begs the question ‘Why do you talk so proper?’ I talk ‘proper’ because I’m from Upstate New York and this is how everyone talks. But I digress.) And a person from so far upstate that they can see the RCMP three blocks away, can easily find Syracuse to be cosmopolitan, Albany to be ‘too damn big’ and New York will cause all five of their senses to spontaneously combust.

On a trip to Watertown yesterday, I found that there are places that look like a scene out of Deliverance and half expected for someone with a banjo to come busting out of the snow covered trees. That’s how New York is; one end of the state leaves me puzzled because there should probably be a log cabin right about here. Then there’s the other end with Rockefeller Center and the Anthropologie from Heaven. With bars and restaurants that stay open until the wee hours of the morning and the ketel one, pomegranate martinis flow like water.

I live somewhere in the middle. I’m getting used to this gray area of a town where on one corner there is a JCrew and on the next there’s a horse farm. I know I grew up here but I feel like I either missed so much, forgot all of it due to rail gin or blocked it all out to save my sanity. I can’t say that I’m ready to accept my lot in life and living in a place where an exciting night out is the bar at the Crowne Plaza. Maybe one day, I’ll be perfectly OK with it all but after yesterday’s drive to the North Country and the current gray skies and impending doom of an apocalyptic ice storm; that day will not be today.

12 minutes after drafting this, I slept for 8 solid hours

February 20, 2008 | Filed under: Sucks like a vacuum

“Insomnia is a gross feeder. It will nourish itself on any kind of thinking, including thinking about not thinking.” ~Clifton Fadiman

48 hours after returning from Paris I left for Las Vegas where I proceeded to stay up for 27 hours. The next day I left for San Diego where I slept for four days on a resort. When I returned home from my rampant ‘vacationing’ my body all but called me a dirty whore and retaliated. My body is a vengeful motherfucker and it proved that by rendering me half catatonic and with a case of insomnia so painful that I would sit in bed at night praying to just sleep and promising that I would never, ever again travel to three different time zones in less than a week. I waved the proverbial white flag and cried Uncle and my body stopped threatening me and allowed me to sleep. And all was well.

At some point in the last two months, I have apparently done something else to piss off the workings of my internal clock. Though in my defense it seems that my body is a bit temperamental and a little evil. My sleep as of late has been for shit. And that would be putting it nicely, as I’ve been regularly hurling epithets toward my body clock. I just want to sleep at a normal hour and then wake up at a normal hour to go to the gym without feeling like there are rocks in my head as opposed to actual brain matter. Have you ever tried to talk to people when keeping your eyelids open and standing upright feels like scaling Kilimanjaro? Sorry, scaling Kilimanjaro barefoot and naked. To put it bluntly: This shit sucks.

BlogHer has been doing a ‘Letter to my body’ initiative, which I’ve been reluctant to do because mine would read:

Dear Body,

HOLY MOTHERFUCKER. LET ME SLEEP.

Love,
HB

The other version would read:

Dear Body,

It’s really great that I have PMS to make me bloated. I’m also happy I’ve lost a few pounds in my ass so none of my pants fit. This makes for some good times around my mid-section as I hike up my pants to my navel and then puff my stomach out in order to keep from showing off my ass-crack. Keep up the good work and just for you, I’ll buy a smaller belt. Finally.

Love,
HB