Archive for March, 2008

The day I turned into my mother

March 30, 2008 | Filed under: Familia, La Madre

“A child is a curly dimpled lunatic.” ~Ralph Waldo Emerson

On Friday evening I babysat for my seven-year-old cousin. She is the daughter of my 31-year-old cousin who used to babysit for me and even though I am mostly retired from babysitting, I feel moved to do her this favor after she endured a decade of torture courtesy of my punk ass. This includes that one time in the mall, when I loudly called her a bitch; because at nine, I had already mastered the art of pissing off someone in authority. In fact, I am so good at it now that I find myself in shock that I remain gainfully employed.

I arrived to a seven-year-old full of attitude and angst. And then she rolled her eyes at me and shook her neck at me and I had to restrain myself from removing each hair from her head. Instead I remained calm and asked what was the matter. It was the usual bullshit: She was forced to eat oatmeal for breakfast, she was forced to put on pants and then she mentioned a boy named Josh at her school. Something about how he used the word ‘penis’ and teased the girls in her class and sometimes he told really bad jokes. And for Chrissakes! He can’t spell orange! I was good and didn’t tell her that little boys grow up to be big boys. They’re just taller and harrier but just as goddamn stupid that she would be surprised that they’ve managed to remain alive for so long. There are times when I want to ask members of the opposite sex exactly how long their brains have been deprived of oxygen.

I kept my mouth shut, as difficult as that was, and told her that her choices were to either ignore him or be nice. She agreed. Then I told her that attitudes were unbecoming on young women so that if she had a problem with someone or something, then she should use her words instead of crying and throwing herself on the floor or tossing a random stool against the wall. Ho hum. Not 20 minutes later her head fell off of her body because she couldn’t eat my mozzarella sticks and then because I told her to go upstairs and brush her teeth and go to the bathroom and there was probably something else but I was busy trying to get an appointment scheduled for an emergency Tubal Ligation.

At that point in the evening, I told her to go to bed and then there were more tears because she NEEEEEEDED A STOOOOORRRRRYYYYY! And if she didn’t have a STORRRRRRYYYYYY then she couldn’t sleep. Then she tried to kick me and I now have her leg as a souvenir. Kidding! I really threatened to call her grandfather (my uncle). She continued to scream and carry on but went into her bed visibly afraid. Hell, I would be too. Her grandfather is a Republican and the last thing I would want to deal with at 8 PM is a cantankerous Republican. Anyway, she went to bed still crying about the damn story and so I told her that perhaps she would be able to defy biology and get to sleep without the story. And lo she did!

The next morning, I was up at 6 AM and I told her mother about what had occurred the evening before. She told me I handled it all very well as she would have picked her up by her ankles and tossed her into the snow. Or laughed. Whatever. I then left and went to the grocery store, Target and TJMaxx all by 9AM. When I finally got back home I looked like this:

True story.

Anger management

March 28, 2008 | Filed under: Comes And Goes

“If you don’t get everything you want, think of the things you don’t get that you don’t want.” ~Oscar Wilde

I bet if you were to perform a google image search using the phrase “perpetually disgruntle” there would be a 400 pixel width photo of me, oily forehead and all, attempting to shove my foot up someone’s ass with a bill from Verizon in the one hand and my mouth forming some words. Obviously you wouldn’t be able to tell what those words are via photo but I can assure you that I would probably be telling Verizon – most emphatically. As you would be able to tell by the way my face is contorted - to ‘SUCK IT’.

Then you would probably feel the need to back away from the computer, ever so slowly, because waking the beast, though I would only be a google image, would probably scar you for life. And I might tear you limb from limb and it wouldn’t be pretty.

I am going to attempt to be zen and calm like and not want to hurl my body across the room at someone but here is a point of order: If someone owes me like $10 I could give a damn. Really. If three people or entities owe me somewhere in the ballpark of $2500 then I start to get a little foamy at the mouth because where on my chest do I have the words “Citibank”? I just don’t see them.

This calls for deep breaths. VERY deep breaths before I completely lose my ever loving shit. The plan is to attend bootcamp right now and when my trainer asks me to take this 12 pound ball and toss it to my teammate, well don’t be surprised if someone ends up a little more concave than convex in their torso.

Pink and Green*

March 27, 2008 | Filed under: The object of my obsession, Whoopdie Doo

“The J.Crew catalog is aspirational- that’s why. It’s like maybe, just maybe, if I buy the Jackie twinset and the Susan pants with the Bohemian print peep toe heels, I live in the whatever house that is on the cover of the latest one, and my yuppie kids and husband and I will travel to Maine in our vintage Mercedes and eat lobster, while our son Rowan runs around in his lobster critter Crew Cuts chinos.” – Slynnro

Once upon a time a very cute boy told me that I looked ‘amazing’ in pink and so I spent the better part of four years looking as if I took a nosedive into a bottle of pepto bismol. Is it in poor taste to say that well, damn, I do look great in pink? Because I do. I love it in all of its various hues my favorite being a bright pink cashmere sweater dress procured from JCrew. Recently I was digging around through a bowl of jelly bellies and remarked that the pink jelly bean tastes just as one would expect pink to taste like: light and sweet and the ability to cause even the world’s oldest living curmudgeon frown to turn upside down. I find it impossible not to smile when I see the slightest hint of pink.

I’m caught up in the bright for as we speak I am covered in gray. A light gray wrap sweater and a darker gray skirt with pockets and tights (again from Paris) with a black and gray pattern. The outfit looks lovely but I still feel drab as I have spent my entire weekend running from Banana Republic to JCrew and back again looking for items to spruce up my spring wardrobe. To add to my long, long list of flaws, I am a shopper and have continuously found myself in the precarious position of having too much clothing but nothing to wear. Hence the reason for why I gave up that habit for 60 days and didn’t touch the stuff. It’s time to throw a little color into the wardrobe and lately green has been ‘speaking to me’. For the record, the other week Purdue was ‘speaking to me’ and it turns out that it was saying “We’re going to suck your soul and your money” but I digress.

I willingly let JCrew take my money because they are so kind about it. They also have provided me with preppy bright chinos and ruffle tops that are excellent cleavage boosters. When your ass to waist to shoulder width ratio is all kinds of awesomely fucked up, then you are forced to focus on one part of your body that you really, really love. For me it’s my cleavage hence the constant obsessing. In the end though it’s all about the dresses. The perfect dresses that amplify the top half and minimize the bottom half with the perfect amount of frill and flow. Anything with pockets causes me to rub my face up against it because I adore pockets. I need a girly dress with ‘manly’ pockets with which to place my ‘manly’ hands. Men don’t understand this obsession with pockets or the need to convulse and flail about excitedly because OMFG POCKETS! I tried to explain this to Brian when telling him about my favorite skirt. He looked at me as if I had just announced my discovery of the Internet because really? More excitement over pockets than vodka? What can I say? They’re a rare but hot commodity. But my God, Give me a dress with pockets and a hood and I’ll give you my first born and other sundry collateral.

Anyway that’s where things are right now, greens and pockets and a ‘puke if you dare!’ sunny dispostion. I just have this good feeling about Spring.

*I know, I am reposting this for various reasons like it was magically lost and that is how strong my love is for pink and green and spring and JCrew: I must tell you about it again.

Water into Wine

March 26, 2008 | Filed under: Comes And Goes

“In my world everyone is a pony, and they all eat rainbows, and poop butterflies” – Horton Hears a Who!

Yesterday afternoon I shut my office door, put my head on the desk and repeated to myself “Positive energy. Positive energy. POSITIVE. ENERGY. POSTITIVE GOD DAMN ENERGY MOTHERFUCKER.” You see, I have been on this whole positive thinking kick after The Roommate started brainwashing me with The Secret. She kept mentioning being positive and putting energy towards good and I kept thinking, “Awww, you can talk out of your ass? Neat party trick. Do it again!”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes and went back to riding her trainer bike in the living room for three hours, “You’ll see. Just try it.”

She had been putting ‘positive thoughts’ towards every aspect of her life including finding parking spots. And since I am a parking spot freak who will get home on Sunday at 1 PM and not want to leave until the next morning because I am parked right outside of the building; I figured I would try it as well. And wouldn’t you know that the first time I thought to myself “There will be a spot right here” lo there was a spot. Directly in front of the door to my building. A fluke obviously because thinking positively about something doesn’t necessarily bring joy and happiness. The next day I tried it again, when I had seven loads of laundry in my car and I needed a spot right in front of the building. I drove up my street and kept thinking “There will be a spot up here…”. Imagine my surprise when once again I could have reached out and touched my apartment from my car.

I flew upstairs and busted in on her and exclaimed that OMFG she was right and I thought positively about getting a parking spot (My joys, they come from even the mundane things) and OMFG I am parked right outside the damn building which means I can get up 15 minutes later and HOT DAMN I AM GOING TO BE POSITIVE IF IT KILLS ME.

So I have spent several days half-dead because being positive really might kill me and it is so difficult to be positive when everyone around you is negative or whiny or petulant and to all of you who have been reading for the last 2 ½ years: I AM SO FUCKING SORRY. Here, take this lovely plant – it’s an orchid bitches, don’t sulk - as my thanks for dealing with me for years. I’d give you something better but I think I owe my parents a kidney each and maybe my second born for dealing with me for 24 ½ years (omfg, please hold while I hyperventilate. I am on a trajectory to the wrong side of my 20’s).

I’ve been working on channeling all of my pent up white hot rage and aggression and general hatred towards most of mankind, into focusing on other things whether it be work or writing something or how awful jail would be if I really did choke the shit out of someone. I keep likening it to turning water into wine: Awesome. But next to impossible unless your name is Jesus. I’m trying to be kind not saintly. Which brings us to yesterday when I spent 12 hours riled up about one thing or another and taking deep cleansing breaths. For I really do get worked up over the most innocuous things and put offs. Both intentional or not but I feel compelled to work on not being so intense about things and letting the small shit go and when I do feel like maybe someone needs to get shot in their big toe for being a dumbshit, then I should re-channel those thoughts towards getting my taxes done or how next weekend I’m going to whisper sweet nothings into Chris Jordan’s ear.

I need to be a little more positive and instead of sharing every negative thought in my head (I hate the opposite sex! I am going to beat the hell out of my brother! I hate bracketology!) Then maybe I might feel better about people and life in general and more importantly abating those thoughts might keep me out of jail. I also don’t want to read back over this site 15 years from now and think, My God, I was a miserable little shit in my 20’s. Which explains why I am now sitting here alone with all of my preshus and adorably feral cats.

Today’s lesson: Sometimes pain is necessary if you ever hope to wear your favorite dress again

March 21, 2008 | Filed under: An ass the size of Rhode Island

“Pain of mind is worse than pain of body” - Latin Proverb

If several fires erupted at every single scale manufacturer throughout the world, I am pretty sure that it would be ok, as I would still have a mother who knows and notices my weight every single time she lays eyes on me. And she doesn’t do it in an obnoxious way but if we have lunch together after such an instance she’ll grill me on what I’ve been doing and tell me that I’ve lost a ton of weight. Something I do not blame her for since the better part of November and December, I spent looking like a blow fish.

I am one of those unfortunate people who gains weight in my middle. And then it slowly creeps north and south and then my boobs look awesome. But my face looks puffy. I feel puffy. And I’m also sure that if someone tossed me into the Hudson I would be buoyant. So let’s try that experiment later. It’s really hard to complain though when a) I still can buy all the frilly dresses I damn well please b) Gap has provided me with an ample supply of trapeze blazers for these occasions and c) My cleavage looks phenomenal. So I tend to go through these I look like a giant hot air balloon moments, knowing that it will pass and maybe McDonalds should stop making such tasty fries. Maybe they’re the problem. Not me.

During a particularly rough few weeks between November and December, weeks when I looked like I was hiding a beach ball under my shirt, I read about the Master Cleanse courtesy of Melissa. It wasn’t a ‘weight’ thing that led me to take notice as much as it was I could just feel vegetable oil coming out of my pores and several weeks of eating out at not the finest dining establishments was starting to make me feel generally icky. I’ll digress to be all After School Special-like, but it is rarely a weight issue and more about how I feel so blargh. It’s that I feel bloated and puffy and I’d really like for someone to stick me with a pin and then I’ll pop, type feeling. Anyway, I followed Melissa’s experiences and on December 26th after weeks of piling on the carbohydrates and Blue Moons I started because I really just wanted to get that shit out. I’ll spare you the gory details about a good salt water flush (It works!) and say that after 10 days, I escaped feeling refreshed, several pounds lighter, and with an aversion to sea salt. In fact, just yesterday I opened a cabinet to get out a spice, noticed the sea salt canister and gagged. But other than that minor setback, it was superb.

I felt better, like a feather (named Heather) and then several weeks later, my ever-sober, holistic, Kripalu loving roommate, mentioned something about a detox. And I being the ever-drunk, bloated, lemming that I am decided to follow. It was 21 days going gluten, egg, dairy, sugar and caffeine-free. It was surprisingly EASY. The caffeine part almost killed me dead and I thought of all the things I would rather be doing than having a constant pounding headache, like, say, watching clowns run around the room, but other than that, it’s amazing the amount of enlightenment that comes when you spend weeks staring at the back of food packages. Also, my survival is not determined by the number of burritos I can shove into my mouth. I did this for three weeks - and have continued to do so - which brings us to yesterday when my mother was staring at me slack jawed because I had the audacity to ask for brown rice in my paella for Easter and I would not be enjoying macaroni and cheese unless she was using soy cheese and gluten free pasta. And now friends and family are all how do you eat? And I’m all, do I really look like a person who would allow herself to starve?!? Uh. No. Let’s just say russet and sweet potatoes are my new best friends and I have a bit of a ‘thing’ for cabbage.

Speaking of my lemming status and the crazy shit I will do to make myself less circular: I was going to tell you about boot camp. Group exercise with a drill sergeant, three days a week at 5:15 AM. But it’s 7 AM and I’ve been up for three hours and I’m pretty sure that if I sit with my weight supported on my arm much longer, then it will fall off. Then you will have no more prose from me! Then what will you do? If this all sounds painful and torturous though it really isn’t and like I said I feel better which was half of my goal. The other half being that I look forward to the day when I can wear my white summer dress with pockets(!!) without looking like I’m smuggling a 32 week old fetus around in my uterus. The end.