Archive for April, 2008

The worst

April 16, 2008 | Filed under: Inebriated prose, Just asking, Sucks like a vacuum

“Have you ever been hurt and the place tries to heal a bit, and you just pull the scar off of it over and over again.” ~Rosa Parks

I just asked this on Twitter but I figured that it was too good to limit the endless possible answers to 300 some odd people. For the record I don’t even know 300 people. I don’t even know 30 people. But if you want to hear about how I can tie a knot with a cherry stem or that cherry blossoms make me sick, then be my guest and do follow. Pull up a chair and I’ll give you every asinine detail of my life. I’M A GIVER.

So here goes: What is the worst pain you have ever felt?

My Sweet Merciful Crap

April 14, 2008 | Filed under: Humdrum

“It’s so hard when I have to, and so easy when I want to.”  ~Annie Gottlier

Oh my.

How rude of me to leave for my all-inclusive five day/four nights trip to Montego Bay, Jamaica. For those constantly inquiring about my disposable income, that’s what I do with it. I run away to Jamaica for five days of fun in the sun and very large drinks with pink umbrellas. I’m now recovering from a mild case of sun poisoning because of a refusal to wear sunscreen. It was all so heavenly and I can practically smell the ocean air along with the crisp scent of pineapple from all the way over here.

Yeah right.

I’ve been on an all-inclusive trip alright, to MANHATTAN. Where I spent five days and four nights participating in a pilot program for indentured servitude and wore heels across a marble floor for like 87 hours a day. My souvenirs are sleep deprivation, a hangover and a blister on my heel. Welcome home! The entire time I kept hearing about how nice it was outside and gorgeous and wonderful and how birds were chirping along Fifth Avenue. And each person who decided to give me this information received a hearty middle finger as my grateful response.

I fell asleep in inappropriate places (a bar, my roommate’s bed, my boss’ suite while drunk) and reaffirmed my love of David Paterson. There isn’t much more to say especially since my boss is really gung ho about ‘blogging’ (so fresh! So new!) and likes to point out to people that I have one. Which means I should probably stop comparing my life over the last week to serfdom. A serf in feudal England who had to beg for a sip of water and a bathroom break. My bad.

Apropos of nothing else and entirely hypothetical; have you ever had several people around you get pregnant around the same time and then you end up all of 27 minutes late and freaking out because OH MY FUCKING GOD, PREGNANT, even though science, biology and common sense might defy that logic. But then you breathe a sigh of relief when you do get your period because NOT PREGNANT. Not that this has ever happened to me before, but just wondering.

On that note, I’ve been informed that I am an embryo’s first internet auntie. A position that comes with a sash and a crown.

And with that, here’s a photo of a baby.

For those who have asked but I’m just too busy embarking in 21st century slavery to answer, I use a 50mm because I’m too lazy to change the lens and if you can’t tell, everything is straight from the camera unless someone says “My, that photo looks awfully fucked up” and then I go fix it.

All is well, I am not dead and even better totally not pregnant. Because obviously pregnancy might be worse than death. Duh.

I bet you all REALLY missed me.

Bliss

April 7, 2008 | Filed under: Blogology, Fotografias, Whoopdie Doo

“You can’t deny laughter; when it comes, it plops down in your favorite chair and stays as long as it wants.” ~Stephen King

Saturday night I laughed so hard that it burned and I bruised a rib. It burned from the bottom of my throat straight down to my waist because I kept doubling over because everything was just so damn funny. Funny like, “You said UMBRELLA!” while Chris continued point out how utterly useless Susan’s opposable thumbs are, that type of funny. I would detail each and every event so that you could feel like you were right there next to me, but midway through you’d be requesting a shot of battery acid to put in my drink and a pair of freshly sharpened chopsticks for your eyeballs. So I will spare you those details but holy hell, I have not laughed like that since I cannot remember. Really. Maybe Nixon was in the White House? I dunno.

My favorite part though other than when Y invited me to meet Rich and so I sat there and told him that the reason I wake up each Monday morning was for his America’s Next Top Model recaps and then I proceeded to stare at him awkwardly because FIERCE! VAGINA ARMS! Yeah, other than that, was when Metalia brought with her to brunch the gift that her husband had got for me in Vegas. Her husband, J, who I have never met in my life and for all he knows, I could be a masochistic sociopath with armpit hair down to my waist waiting to kidnap his wife for her lip gloss. J was in Las Vegas and saw Amani Toomer from the Giants. I happen to love the Giants and Amani Toomer. J knew this because I spent the better part of January texting Metalia about every other third down. Anyway, J saw Amani and noticed that he had several photos with him and asked if he would sign one. Instead of saying can you make it out to my wife? or to I don’t know anyone he’s ever seen in real life, he asked Amani to sign a photo FOR ME.

J brought the photo back to Metalia and said “I got something for Heather in Vegas” to which Metalia said “So this is how you’re going to tell me. I see…” It was nice and sweet and when I finally saw what it was, I got that lump in my throat and almost cried because it was such a lovely and unexpected thing. This weekend was like rolling around in a great big pile of awesome and the entire way home I kept laughing to myself because WHAT WAS IN THE BATH?! If I haven’t said it before, I’ll say it again, most days even on the days when there is unnecessary drama and I want to throw something at the computer screen and I’m giving the finger to people 900 miles away and calling some poor woman the ‘c’ word, I really, really love the internet.

Photoset here: The Manhattan Project (Part I)

Clingy

April 4, 2008 | Filed under: La Madre, Mmhmm That's Right

“Whatever else is unsure in this stinking dunghill of a world a mother’s love is not.” ~James Joyce

Several years ago I babysat for the world’s most difficult toddler. She was fine during the 10 months prior but once she turned one she was desperate for her mother and her mother was desperate for 40 minutes without a toddler wrapped around her neck and so she would go out and leave me with a child who screamed bloody murder for a solid five minutes. The girl is almost six now and hates when her mother comes home and I have to leave. I remind her of that really great year when she was clingy and wanted nothing more than to duct tape her body to her mother’s forehead and once gave herself a bloody nose because of all the screaming she looked at me and said “Well, I NEVER!” while appalled by such behavior. So I had her yell at me in my right ear and she was all shocked when I claimed I couldn’t hear anything because she had burst that ear drum many years ago with all the fucking screaming.

Though I am not necessarily screaming at the top of my lungs each day I have reverted back to being clingy to my parents, particularly my mother. I can actually appreciate the sentiment of a toddler because sometimes we all need a little loving from our mommies. But at 24, it’s a little awkward to walk up to my mother in the bathroom at work or the kitchen or while she is mid-conversation with my boss and then rest my head in her armpit. Or perhaps nuzzle her chin. Awkward because there are others around and because I find it rather uncomfortable being a good three inches taller. Yesterday I went into her office twice (unheard of) once to shoot the shit because we hadn’t seen each other in a whole 12 hours. The second time she was genuinely happy to see me and gave me a little pat on the cheek. Each time I had to fight the urge to yell out Mommy! Hold me!

I’m thinking the clinginess is a manifestation of the difficulties of the last several months. Nothing that needs detailing right this moment but hard nonetheless and even harder to not analyze and obsess about. I’m also thinking that the clinginess is what led me to spend Wednesday evening with 489 mothers. 489 mothers, people, and there I was praying I didn’t get pregnant by association. What? You didn’t know you could catch that by breathing? It really was lovely and the thing about mothers is that they don’t stop mothering. They can’t help but love everyone and be protective and yell at you for texting while driving. They’re programmed to care. It was wonderful and full of conversation that actually had nothing to do with children but all about love, puppies and how to get sparkles out of rainbows.

I am leaving for Manhattan in a few hours to go spend more time with several more friends. The other day a friend of mine told me that I could use a little “normal” to cling to. Not that I can actually define “normal” but now I understand the reversion of wanting, nay, needing a parent around at all times; I want something I am confident in and something really good to hold onto that makes me feel a little like me again. So I am going to go away and get drunk for three days, stop at Tiffany, walk around Central Park, eat cupcakes, drink mimosas for breakfast, try not to puke and buy something cute from Coach. See? Normal.

In praise of breathing

April 2, 2008 | Filed under: An ass the size of Rhode Island

“I really don’t think I need buns of steel.  I’d be happy with buns of cinnamon.”  ~Ellen DeGeneres

So the other evening I’m sitting around in some jeans – which isn’t anything out of the ordinary but it’s always a good time when I’m wearing pants – when I noticed that when I first bought the pants covering my ass they could barely do their job given that they were a tad too small. And by ‘too small’ I mean that I couldn’t breathe in them and sitting in them required an act of God. Getting up from a sitting position to a standing position required holding of the belt loops with one hand and the button with the other because I thought that maybe the button would fly off and permanently blind a five year old boy. Then I would be that girl with the wide ass whose button seriously harmed some child, BUT! I would be able to breathe. Lesson for all the children out there: Sometimes you must suffer for another person’s happiness or another person’s ability to move oxygen throughout their body.

I bring up the pants because I am spending several of the next few days cuddling with a person who last saw me when my pants were so tight that blood circulation was briefly halted. I think she’ll be excited to see me because a) I still have all of my appendages and b) The extreme tightness around my waist did not cause the top half of my body to spontaneously fall off and go rolling down some stairs.

Seriously people, I was sitting in these pants just yesterday and I was like Whoa! Breathing while wearing jeans. What will they think of next? And now that these jeans are a tad too big, my new party trick is too remove them without unbuttoning or unzipping them. And since I have apparently turned into a 13-year-old boy, I might have to get drunk off of half a Smirnoff Ice and then go around mooning people.  Then I’ll leave a note in someone’s locker before homeroom that says “Will you go out with me? Circle YES or NO” and decide the rest of my future with a rousing game of MASH.