“Like other parties of the kind, it was first silent, then talky, then argumentative, then disputatious, then unintelligible, then altogether, then inarticulate, and then drunk. When we had reached the last step of this glorious ladder, it was difficult to get down again without stumbling. ” ~George Gordon Byron
Category Archives: Socially Awkward Barbie™
In Real Life
Stuff. ‘Nuff said.
“Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can.” ~Danny Kaye
Earlier today I became thoroughly and shockingly annoyed over the apathy of others. I demanded response and some sort of commentary to a new Obama administration appointment and instead no one shared the joy, wonder, curiosity and overwhelming amount of giddiness that erupted upon hearing of a thisclose vacancy in the United States House. As much as I dislike apathy towards politics I find my reaction to the apathy a bit deplorable. Who am I to be judgemental and tell people that they should care about Sonia Sotomayor or John McHugh? Why should I be the one to tell others that how a presidential candidate feels about a woman’s right to choose or Plessy v. Ferguson will end up impacting generations? That isn’t my job and yet the way it maddened me today. It was so…well…it was unnecessary. And I totally take back when I said – behind your back – that if Neil Patrick Harris was giving someone a blow job on my bed then you would care more than who Obama was appointing to very high powered positions. I’m sorry.
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On Sunday evening – pre the day of self righteous bitch ass behavior – I burned three of my fingers on my right hand. I burned them after I put METAL into the microwave so I could make tea because I couldn’t find my normal tea making accouterments. So there I was grabbing hot metal, fleshy fingers first out of the microwave. Good news is that in the event that I commit a serious felony I have no finger prints. Bad news is that I’m using the hunt and peck method when it comes to typing. There’s also a ruined manicure and my father was rather disappointed by my Vulcan salute because my fingers are so effed up that I can’t tell anyone to ‘live long and prosper’ with the proper enthusiasm.
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I think I’ve spent the last three weeks without telling you that I’ve started writing at MamaPop again. I’m…and I’m loathe to admit this so I’m taking deep breaths but it’s not nearly as bad as Holly crying during Speidi’s wedding so I really shouldn’t care…..I’m doing recaps of The Real Housewives of New Jersey(1, 2, 3). And I fucking love it more than is appropriate. Especially that Caroline. The Carmela Soprano of the group who will fuck a bitch up in a minute.
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I leave for DC again next week. I’ll have to update my suggestions but that is the least of my worries right now. I keep flipping through my paper planner to July and then I flip back. I then I look at July again and then I flip back. Rinse and repeat. It’s because I need a Klonopin every time I think of July. The running around and the multiple experiences with TSA and how I’m going to pack and the number of tattoos I will be getting and suddenly I’m awake at 2:30AM thinking about standing by myself at BlogHer because EVERYONE HATES ME.
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Last night I lived my worst fear: I saw my therapist at the bar. I’m not really supposed to be drinking. We pretended not to know each other. Let’s just say I’ll have some ‘splaining to do about that goblet full of (shitty) Meritage.
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I’m posting now in hopes that tomorrow comes sooner. I’m awaiting a special package at the suggestion of Karen and OMFG I cannot wait to show you guys and also I owe Karen a kiss. And this chick needs some practice like whoa.
Verbal diarrhea
“Be careful of your thoughts; they may become words at any moment.” ~Ira Gassen
Usually I’m very meticulous about the stories I tell you all because they are all a manifestation of something I’ve been thinking long and hard about for days. Sadly with NaBloPoMo you’re getting a heap load of verbal diarrhea: Exactly what I’m thinking as I think it. It’s my brain in real time. Discussion of vanity plates and how my brothers leave me out of everything are exactly what’s going through my head. Not about the economy or the world’s most heinous project but vanity plates and high pitched whining.
Currently* I want to go off on a room full of educated white women discussing how black people think. It’s a discussion of race and gay marriage. And oh, oh, the burning. It hurts to hear a group of people discuss race and to want to just throw yourself into that conversation but you cannot because you’re so livid by the overall tone and accusations that have come up since the election day debacle that you cannot bring yourself to insert yourself without your head doing a 360 degree turn at the absurdity of it all. Instead I fumed and spouted off and stomped outside to be alone with my ever sober self then came back in to drown my sorrows in chèvre. And to do as my mother said; which is to blog about it and use incessant run-on sentences and possible non-sequiturs to say: Oh my hell, I’m pissed.
*This was last night. I’m fine now. Carry on.
In which I decide to start showering regularly
“Let us be grateful to the mirror for revealing to us our appearance only.” ~Samuel Butler
The theme for last week was ‘Arduous’ though ‘shit in a can’ seems much more accurate. Details will come later but given the laborious tenor of two weeks worth of travel and having my heart punted into the Potomac, by Saturday I was beyond spent and decided that showering and getting dressed would require a minor act of God. Since it is both illegal to get on a plane naked not to mention the thought of flesh eating disease, I decided to rock the jeans and tee with flip flops look. With my hair in desperate need of deep conditioner hidden behind a headband. If there were ever a time to question why I am single, look no further than the haggard look I was sporting on Saturday afternoon. I then boarded a tiny plane from DC to Albany next to a very large and sweaty man. I went from one rather balmy climate to another. By the time I arrived to Albany, I was a hot, sweaty mess with dry hair and in desperate need of a manicure.
The awesome part about the above is that I am hardly exaggerating and yet I found myself driving home with the sunroof open thinking that I should stop at the mall. Purchase myself some cute summer wear and by ‘cute summer wear’ I mean something that makes my bloated ass look less like a sausage stuffed haphazardly in its casing. I clearly remember giving ‘Let’s go to the mall!’ a second thought but then thought that maybe I wouldn’t see anyone at the mall because it was a gorgeous day in Upstate NY and when it’s gorgeous in Upstate NY people run around naked on golf courses. They don’t go to the mall.
“I won’t see anyone” would be my famous last words because there is a reason for why people refer to Albany as ‘Smallbany’, because it’s easy to walk out of the front door and see your high school Organic Chemistry teacher, your former pediatrician, the nurse who delivered you and some woman who used to date your father. And if you think I am being hyperbolic, I cannot tell you how many times I’ve ducked behind grocery carts to keep away from my first grade teacher.
I am at the top of the escalator looking down when I see a woman I haven’t seen in seven years looking up at me. I briefly think that she didn’t see me and then I contemplate hiding but it’s an escalator so running back up would probably force someone to notice me more than coming down peacefully. I put my face down and look casually off to the side when she catches my eye. I stand up straight, suck my stomach in and wave back. She was a good friend from high school and so we hug and she tells me I look great and I say “Ha. I just got off of a plane. I NEVER dress like this”.
“Well you look great” she replies.
“I NEVER look like this. I’m all hot and sweaty and did I mention that I just got off a plane? Because I literally just got off a plane like 25 minutes”
We exchanged updates on each other’s lives and pleasantries and she told me that I really did look great while I kept interjecting that I just got off a plane and I’m surprised she didn’t backhand me because I’m sure she got it that I just got off a damn plane. We depart and I wonder if I actually do look decent even though I’ve yet to see a mirror.
I go upstairs to do my normal Banana Republic, JCRew back to Banana Republic dance of credit card suckage. On my round of JCrew I go towards the back to look at dresses, including a dress I keep trying on and fondling the eyelets even though I have yet to actually make the purchase. I’m standing by the dresses and barely notice two girls standing in front of me. That is until one stops mid-conversation with the other and stares at me. This is when I have to quell my urge to be blatantly rude. I look at her trying to see if I can place her and going through my mental rolodex of people I know and for the life of me, I cannot figure it out. I can feel the “What the fuck are you staring at?” right at the tip of my tongue and it’s then that she says “HEATHER?!”
“Uh yeah”
“I’m JEN!”
JEN! And then I have to keep from diving under the dresses and pretending like she can’t see me because I’m all hot and sweaty and gross and I DIDN’T SHOWER. Yet no invisibility cloak arrives to save me because ha! There’s Jen! Jen who reads my blog! Here is where I prove how absurdly small Albany is: Jen found me on someone else’s blogroll and commented that we must live like right near each other because there are like 24 people in this city. So I clicked over to her blog and realized that I did ‘know’ Jen in that I wrote about her nephew in November and her sister and I work on the same floor.
So ha! There’s Jen! Right in front of my face laughing at how crazy it is that she has found me in J. Crew and I’m all “I just got off a plane” and awkward and OH MY HELL, I JUST GOT OFF A PLANE AND I DIDN’T SHOWER. I’m pretending not to be wildly uncomfortable because I’m all gross and crazy haired and all I can think is she is going to remember this very moment, the first time she met me in the mall and I looked as if instead of sitting inside the plane, I just strapped myself to a wing and hoped for the best. She goes to pay for her flip flops and I stand looking at some chinos with my heart racing because on top of all of the other grossness, I remembered that I had Cajun fries from Five Guys for lunch, you know, ON THE PLANE and so I probably smelled like Cajun fries.
I swear this gets better every other second.
I told my mother, who happens to work in the same department as Jen’s sister (this place is so small that it suffocates), what had happened she asks how Jen knew I was Heather and I said “uh, from my picture” and she is all shocked and shit that people might actually know what I look like from a photo on my blog. She thinks it’s creepy to say the least and I have to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that’s nothing compared to the number of times I’ve discussed my boobs on this site. For wouldn’t she be a little upset to know that not only do several thousand people know my cup size but they now also know that her only daughter sometimes hates to shower and walks around town like an unkempt woman who got run over by a USAir puddle jumper.







This is for my people. My party people.
“Gratitude is a quality similar to electricity: it must be produced and discharged and used up in order to exist at all.” ~William Faulkner
Way back in February – you remember February don’t you? With the cold and the ice weasels? – well way back then I went to Houston for three days. Three days in a room with Susan surrounded by women I have since….gosh, forever. Except here’s the funny part, the part where you can understand my pill popping ways: The first day we ordered bottles of champagne by the pool and slowly people that have always just been there appeared. Susan and I got pedicures at the spa and then got dressed for a Mad Men themed party. We went downstairs and started to mingle and instead of hugging and kissing it was as if I didn’t belong. Here I was in front of these Forever People and yet I couldn’t stand being there. I was there physically but mentally couldn’t help but feel as if I wasn’t wanted there. Like ‘they’ didn’t like me. I lost the ability to speak to others and a lump formed in my throat so I ran back upstairs. I tweeted something about being around all of these people I’ve known for years and yet feeling like complete awkward shit. I stared at myself in the full length mirror, shook my head and went back downstairs.
Everything else is a blur. A chaotic mess of wonderful memory. Where I had more fun than is legal and I laughed. Oh, how I laughed and enjoyed a tasting menu and hugged and whispered and talked about what was fun. And my God, I was inspired. During the keynote featuring Heather, Maggie and Gabby I tweeted, “This keynote is making me smarter” and later “I love seeing smart women do great things”. It was all better than good and I’m not sure why it has taken me so long to write about Houston or the ideas that I left with. Probably life getting in the way. Not enough time to really process. But four months have passed and I’ve processed and percolated. And now I sigh. I got comfortable. I don’t know why I was so nervous because those women there? The ones brimming with brilliance? They’re my people. Now can we do that again?