“In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle the inner spirit.” ~Albert Schweitzer
I hate to be a downer but every time someone asks me how I am or how things are going I shrug my shoulders, sigh heavily, and say “It’s OK”. I sound like Eeyore and anyone who crosses my path half expects my tail to fall off or for me to keel over due to an extreme bout of ennui. I can’t even get into the spirit of the season without it all feeling extremely forced and obvious. I’ve baked cookies while listening to Ella Fitzgerald with a fire crackling in the background and yet I would look outside at the snow, the thing that signifies the loveliness that should come this time of year, and the only thing I wanted to do was beat myself in the head with a crowbar. Nothing says “Joy” like blunt force trauma.
I’ve actually kept most everything to myself – especially as of late – because I don’t want to be a bother and I’m boring and most people find whining to be abhorrent. So I stay silent. In general though I tend to be shy and quiet. Some call it aloof but I like to refer to it as observing my surroundings intently so that later I can write about all the drunk dumbshits within five miles. So my rather subdued behavior ends up being advantageous.What really ends up happening is that I keep it all inside, bottled up and under pressure. And much like a bottle of Brut, once the cork is popped, everything comes pouring out. Sometimes it’s messy and I end up with verbal diarrhea and tell my life story to some unsuspecting friend and other times I try to let a little out at a time so as not to frighten everyone away. And if you were wondering, several glasses of wine might cause things to spill out as well and suddenly I’m telling people about shit that happened in 1995 and apparently I am not over an incident involving my brother, a bike and a pool cue.
God willing, barring any ill winter and something I’ve been trying to keep from discussing due to jinxing it all but I just cannot hold it inside: I will be going to Oklahoma City for a brief vacation. Susan thinks that it is just to drink wine and bask in her presence when in reality so that I can unload all of the shit that has been plaguing me for months and months and months. Thankfully I’m being quite nice to her and writing everything out in list form; that way I know what I want to say and it will keep my thoughts in place. It will be a lovely way to spend the pre-Holiday: Me talking endlessly about myself, because I don’t get to do enough of that already and Susan sitting there possibly bored to death but oh so very happy that someone came to visit her in one of the reddest states in the country. For nothing says “Merry Christmas” like slowly killing the ones you love with loquaciousness.
Great moments in narcissism
“The two women exchanged the kind of glance women use when no knife is handy.” ~Ellery Queen
I’ve just returned from lunch with a friend of mine. I spent the entire hour with my head halfway bent down and my hand resting on my chin. I probably looked very thoughtful but in reality I didn’t want her to see the unibrow that I had been growing for the past six weeks nor did I want her to see the hairs on my chinny chin chin. Because obviously that is what she would spend her entire lunch hour doing: In lieu of exchanging gossip she was counting the number of wiry motherfuckers that kept sprouting out of nowhere. At the end of lunch she admitted to me that she feared I would notice the black jacket she had carried along in the event that it got below 70, because she was wearing brown pants. And of course the first thing I would notice is the brown/black combination but that would be assuming I lifted my head up long enough to take a quick peek.
I’m always amazed by women, myself included. How we constantly feel that others are staring at us and noticing our slightest outwardly flaws. I remember before BlogHer last year when the women folk were primping; haircuts, manis and pedis and waxing errant hairs all with the hope that no one would notice a dry nail cuticle or uneven bangs. I was guilty of it to as I went to get my bikini line done and made seven trips to Anthropologie; because God forbid I didn’t have a cache of perfectly fitting and cleavage flattering shirts to choose from. Perhaps it’s just me but I’m of the belief that women do these things for other women. The typical male probably wouldn’t notice half this shit; the new bags, the new shoes, a new hair color. But a woman? A woman would notice it all in a heartbeat. Upon first meeting with that quick up and down glance and then a mention of how cute a jacket is or where a pair of shoes are from. Hell, I once bought new bras not just because they were necessary but because other women would notice that my boobs were hanging precariously close to my abdomen. It’s what once prevented me from discarding a Tiffany blue bag and instead using it for three months to carry my lunch in. Because that’s just how we women are are. It’s in our DNA to look closely and judge even if we don’t realize that it’s being done, there we are inspecting shoes and bags and labels. It’s what led me to say out loud but to no one in particular “What the HELL was she thinking wearing those ugly shoes with that skirt”. All the while walking down the street with greasy cortisone covering half of my face after the forced eviction of the two caterpillars that had been building a kick ass cocoon on my forehead.