Archive | March, 2012

Children.

29 Mar

That one word is enough to bring a look of pure disgust to my face.  The look is involuntary, too. It just happens.

It’s a widely known fact among my friends and family that I do not like children. And, aside from the fact that they’re sticky, cry all the time for no reason at all, and I have no idea how to talk to them, I think I’ve finally figured out why I dislike them so much:

I’m still a child at heart.  Sure, I go to work every day and pay my bills on time and own a car- but I’d almost always rather be going to the zoo. Or jumping on a trampoline. Or coloring. Or watching a Disney movie.  I’m jealous of all the cool things that kids get to do all the time- and they don’t get made fun of for it!

I came to this conclusion recently while dining at a Friendlys restaurant with my roommate.  When we walked in, we had to wait to be seated.  Why?  Because the dining room was FULL OF CHILDREN! Children who were eating the french fries I wanted to be eating and coloring on the placemats I wanted to be coloring on. They all had balloons, too. I love balloons.

It doesn’t help that whenever I do get the chance to do something fun and reminiscent of childhood, there are always children in my way! Last fall, I went apple picking at a farm with a petting zoo. I was very distraught that I couldn’t pet the miniature horse and that it would have been socially unacceptable for me to push the little kids out of my way to do so.

Don’t get me wrong: I’m not against people wanting to have babies or starting a family. I’m a sucker for an adorable baby (as long as it’s clean and not crying) and I’m sure that when my friends start having children that I’ll gladly take on the role of Aunt Bethany and dote on the little tykes. Just as long as they don’t expect me to hold anyone. Or babysit.

Maybe someday the tides will change and I’ll think kids are the coolest.  In the meantime, I’ll continue to complain about crying babies and how sticky kids are and how they make everything they touch sticky, too- especially the menus at Friendlys.

While I eventually did get my french fries, I did not get to color.  Turns out, they don’t give crayons to 28 year olds.

Song of the day: When I Grow Up by Michelle Shocked

Being Grown Up Isn’t Half As Fun As Growing Up

24 Mar

Our 10 year high school reunion is just around the corner this year. That, to both Bethany and I, makes us feel old. I know in the grand scheme of things, it’s not that old. 28 is still very young. But in the present world I live in, it’s a reality check. It’s a milestone in a way along the lines of graduating college, getting married, having babies. And it scares the crap out of me.

I’ve been thinking a lot about friendships I’ve experienced. I keep thinking about the people I’ve connected to in my life that are still present and those who are not. When I think of those who have faded into the background, I over analyze and wonder if I did this or said that, would they still be in my life? The answer is usually no because there wasn’t anything specific that broke it apart. We just grew apart for whatever reason. Even with Facebook and all social media that connects us together, friendships still fall apart naturally and inevitably. I am thankful I can still keep in contact with those who I haven’t seen in years via the internet but at the same time, I’ve realized no matter what I say in my “Happy Birthday” post to them or “Congrats on the baby!” we won’t be friends like we were once. I can’t change that unless they are thrown back into my life somehow and even then, will it seem forced? Will it be the same?

I think about how many bridesmaids have come and gone in my life. This is the thought that really gets me hating on growing up. I can section off my life into who were my bridesmaids at the time. The girls from camp were front runners for a long time. I love them dearly and always expected them to be in my wedding party and me in theirs. We spent countless idealistic summers on Lake Champlain together, literally summers out of a postcard and grew extremely close.  But now, three are married and I congratulated them on the good old Facebook. It’s no one’s fault, we all went to college and most of us grew apart living different lives in different cities but it breaks me heart to think about that in a way. That being an adult means losing these pieces of you, these people, along the journey, even if they meant the absolute world to you and you couldn’t imagine going through a big event like a wedding without them.

I think about my college friends that I thought would be forever and many of them are distant now. Again, with the bridesmaids, I had a few that were definite and now, I hardly speak to them unless it’s a ‘like’ here and there on Facebook. And most of them live here with me in NYC! We were together through our formidable years, building a trust and love that could continue outside the structure of school and into the real world. And yet, we grew apart as if it was going to happen no matter what we did. As if it has to happen.

I just don’t understand how this happens. I mean, I do. But I don’t like it. Growing up shouldn’t be losing the people who built you. The people who give you hope and love, who challenge you, who hurt you and forgive you, who anger you and frustrate you, who support you and celebrate you. How do we lose these people? It’s as if we close our eyes or turn away for one moment and then poof! they’re gone. We don’t even realize it sometimes until years later where we think “Huh, I wonder what ever happened to So and So?” Check Facebook, they probably are married and with a baby and going on awesome tropical vacations.

I have my NYC family that I’ve had for six years but there’s this fear that they too will disappear. Many already have. These are friends from jobs and shows I’ve done that I have fiercely held onto but they still slip through my fingers. I have bridesmaids chosen from this group and I know in my heart this will be the final pack but part of me worries that since there is still a lot of growing to do, they’ll vanish slowly into the path behind me instead of the one I’m walking forward on. I miss each and everyone that has faded from me and I always wonder how do I get them back? Can I get them back? If I beg them to have a cup of coffee with me, will things just fall back into the routine they once were? Or will it be clear we’ve grown apart and it’s the natural way of things and we have to let go in order to continue to build ourselves without their help now.

So now I am heavily reflecting on high school. I am blessed in the way that I was friends with a lot of people in high school, in my class and the younger and older classes. Through social media, I still talk to them and keep up with them and honestly, I can’t wait to see them. I have my close knit group that I’ve always been close with and visit with when I go home. But it is the rest of my class, I still adore even though they aren’t my close friends. I look forward to the awkward moments where you run out of things to say and end up talking about whatever you saw on Facebook. I really look forward to the genuine moments where the alcohol is flowing and we are relaxed and ourselves and reminiscing about EHS and target sports (this will probably be just me and Bethany for this topic). I even look forward to knowing that there will be a group of people who seem like they are the ultimate high school group. We all have one in our school. They are called “the popular crowd” though in my class, we all got along for the most part though cliques were evident. They will have the majority of the slideshow, the videos, and the focus. But I’m at a point where I am thrilled with my high school experience and I have no problem sitting back and watching them steal the show.

I just want to be there with people I grew up with. Most of which I have known since I was eight years old. Almost all of them have been living a different life than me with marriage, kids, a real job. Part of me is jealous that I don’t have that stability and that structure. But I like living in Neverland and I like having a different dream than any one in my class. I am so proud of every one of them and their life choices and I am proud that I made my own and have the support of those I’m close to from my class. I am lucky I’ve gotten to be at two of my beloved friends’ weddings. I’m even luckier that I am able to make plans with so many of my high school friends and see them in their lives and have them see me in mine.

High school is so hard for so many people. I always feel guilty when I say “Oh I loved high school!” and people glare at me and respond with disdain, “Really?” Growing up is hard for everyone. There is so much loss and so little gain at times where you wonder how you ever keep any friends at all. I think that maybe the people that stick with you are meant to. The others are placed in your life for a reason and when they serve their purpose, they continue onto another road. I’m sure I have been that for others as they have for me. It breaks my heart to think about the people I have loved so deeply that I never even speak to any more. People I shared deep secrets with or life altering moments. People I stood next to when I saw the Grand Canyon for the first time or sat next to at my first Broadway show or lived with in a cabin when I was away from home for the first time on my own. But I remember all of them. All their faces and all their love, thoughts, words, jokes, everything. Growing up sucks and I don’t like doing it but I can’t avoid the loss. I can only be thankful for the fact that I get to see my high school friends and I am stoked about it.

I lucked out that I met my best friend when I was eight and we haven’t lost each other and never will. We’ve had our ebbs and flows in closeness but we’ve never faded away from each other entirely. At least there’s one bridesmaid that’s never changed.

Being grown up isn’t half as fun as growing up: 
These are the best days of our lives.
The only thing that matters
is just following your heart
and eventually you’ll finally get it right

Here (In This Diary), The Ataris


The Ultimate Compliment: A Tale of Caution

22 Mar

If you are a lady, you most likely recall the first time a boy called you beautiful (your dad does not count). If you’re lucky, it was not just any boy but a boy you liked. It’s a moment where the world really does stop and your breath catches and you feel this incredible warmth sneak up your entire body while at the same time, you feel icy chills tingling your spine. Your tongue catches and you can’t speak because here, in front of you, is your Jake Ryan telling you that he thinks you’re beautiful. And he’s looking into your eyes and you’re melting at his feet because for that moment, that one brief second, you are the most beautiful girl in the world to one person.

It’s then that you lose all logic and end up in a girl fight.

Brief backstory: I am by no means insecure about my appearance. Everyone has their insecurities and I have plenty but I know I’m a pretty attractive individual. However, at this point in my life, no boy had ever referred to me as ‘hot’. I was ‘cute’, I was ‘pretty’, I was ‘adorable’. But never hot. It doesn’t help my best friend is wicked hot and blonde (Damn you, Sheldon). I had come to terms with this predicament because I did have boyfriends and I did receive compliments. Deep down, however, I did want to be known as hot for once. I know it sounds insanely shallow, but, ladies, let’s be real. You all know what I’m talking about. It was some odd fascination with that word. Having boys refer to you as “hot” meant that they wanted you, that you were above other girls who were just ‘pretty’. That you were sexy and more woman than girl and who knows what else my teenage mind thought it meant but it was something that was missing. And this is the shallow side of me exposing itself. But this is a tale of caution. Sometimes getting what you want can lead to destruction…or girl fights.

Freshmen year dorm courtyard. I was making friends and hanging out in the fall warmth. There was boy that I automatically fell head over heels for. This was, to me at the time, the Jake Ryan of freshman boys. He was a boy I never dreamed I could get because, once again, I was the cute girl next door who didn’t really snag boys, I helped them talk to their dream girls who usually were my besties. I digress. This boy starts talking to me and laughing with me and FLIRTING with me. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I turned on all the charm I could muster. And then, without warning, he had his arm around my waist and said “God, you’re so hot. You’re the hottest girl I’ve met here so far.” Um. Holy crap.

At this point, you can imagine I would seriously do anything. Fuck that cute girl. I was the HOTTEST GIRL HE HAD MET YET! I lost all sense of myself in terms of caution and logic, much like Superman would around Kryptonite. Obviously he was telling the truth! I allowed this new friend to escort me back to my dorm room where he kissed me in the hallway. Then he kissed me in the common room. I lived in a suite with two bedrooms, a common room, and 4 residents. My room mate was in the room asleep as she usually was and my suitemates were out.. Because I had lost all sense of reason, I thought “Of course! Let’s totally makeout in my suitemates’ room instead of my own!” In my head, the hot girl I had morphed into also became the slutty girl. Sigh.

They came home, of course, and found me standing there on their newly purchased rug, kissing some strange boy.. I believe pants were still on… My one roommate was a tough girl from New Jersey who I did get along with up until this point. I learned quickly that unlike Vermont, TriState area girls like to physically get into it. So I was promptly shoved up against a wall and screamed at as I tried to explain that Jake Ryan had called me hot and I wasn’t thinking and I was fully dressed (I believe) and we were going to go right to my room but somehow we ended up in hers. Note: I am sober this entire time (I believe).

Jake Ryan had fled the scene by now. He was not there to protect me. I think he realized I was an impostor and not actually a hot girl but a shy one who got lost in the splendor of being a sex object for 5 minutes. I ran out of the dorm once Jersey had released her acrylic talons from my shoulders and hid in the boys room directly upstairs from me. These boys were our buds and were very sweet to keep me sheltered for a few hours til Jersey calmed down. They did not refrain from mocking me for months to come, however.

It was, in fact, my second girl fight. The first was in third grade when it was discovered I had a crush on a boy who was ‘seeing’ another girl and she found out and confronted me at recess and told me to “Keep your sticky paws off my man.” Third grade. I have witnesses.

I recall the warmth and joy I felt when he called me ‘hot’. Every happiness was filled with just that one little adjective being said about me to my face. Thankfully, because of this experience, I do realize now that compliments aren’t everything and spending your life waiting for one is wasting time not loving yourself as you are because if you let them affect your judgment, you could end up having a very angry girl from Jersey being pulled off of you in your dorm room.

Also, if you don’t know the Jake Ryan movie reference, I don’t know if you should be reading this blog because I will have a lot of John Hughes characters mentioned.

So, this happened…

21 Mar

Background: Douchebag is a guy I met last summer and went out with a few times. We had fun; he seemed really sweet, smart, interested, etc. He’s a student in the healthcare industry and was always “busy” studying for an exam, always had friends in town, always had some excuse as to why we couldn’t go out again- but he never failed to text message at least once every one or two weeks to see how I was, say we should hang out soon, blah, blah, blah. I haven’t seen him since October. It’s now March. The whole “I’ll text message you but not actually commit to anything” thing was getting on my nerves.  And then this happened:

Douchebag (group text message to me and 3 other phone numbers):
Happy St Patty’s Day Babe!!

Me (to group):
Ummm, you do realize that you sent that to multiple people, right?

Douchebag (to group):
Haha yeah Hun 🙂
Doing anything for St Patty’s?

Me (to group):
It’s not funny

Douchebag (to group):
What do you mean Hun? I refer to all my friends who are girls by Hun if that is what you are referring to. I think you have me misunderstood.

Confused girl (to me):
Hey, this is totally random, but I saw your response on that text thread with Douchebag. I’ve been dating him for a little while and now I’m wondering if I’m not the only one.

Me (to Confused girl):
Sorry. He texts me every week seeing if I want to hang out.

Me (to group):
You’re an ass. Sorry to the girl who thinks you’re dating. Please stop texting me.
And, yes, I’m having a fantastic St. Patty’s day

Confused girl (to me):
Thanks so much, I’m loving your responses on the mass texts. He apparently doesn’t know how to use his new iPhone.

Me (to Confused girl):
He’s an asshat.
In all honesty, I haven’t seen him since October, but he texts me all the time.

Confused girl (to me):
That’s kinda creepy. Maybe he should get his eyes checked and realize he texted all of us at once LOL

Me (to Confused girl):
I think he has no idea

Douchebag (to group):
I’m sorry you feel that way. Just so you know, you’ve completely misunderstood me. Thanks for making assumptions.

Me (to group):
You know everyone you sent this to can see that, right? All the numbers you texted? And all the responses?

Douchebag (to group):
Good for you

Me (to group):
I didn’t do it

Douchebag (to me):
I just want you to realize that you made an assumption that made you look like an ass. Great job.

Me (to Douchebag):
Nope. You look like one. Have a great day.

Douchebag (to me):
Good riddance

Confused girl (to group):
Yeah, we all know that you texted three different girls the same thing. And we can see all of the responses.

Douchebag (to group):
Nice

And that’s where it ended.  I have since received two very apologetic text messages from Douchebag about his selfishness, actions, and his desire to meet up so he can explain things to me.  Yeah, that’s not going to happen.  And now I know why he was always so busy.  I’m sure dating multiple girls at the same time can get stressful.

The moral of this story: never send group text messages. It can get ugly.  Also, boys can be jerks.

Song of the day: The Dirty Glass by Dropkick Murphys

Bethany Attempts To Write…

15 Mar

So, my best friend wants to start a blog, which seems like a great idea. I’ve always wanted to sit down and chronicle the social awkwardness and general debauchery that is my life; write down memories that I know I’ll want to have when I’m old and can’t remember what I had for breakfast that day let alone what I did on Marathon Monday during my senior year of college (which was lay spread eagle in the middle of the road in a skirt so my friend could trace my outline in chalk, among other things). This is a brilliant plan, right? Wrong. Turns out, writing is hard.

I used to have a great imagination. I can recall a 20+ page long story I wrote in 3rd grade about my troll dolls.  Yes, you read that right. Troll dolls…the little plastic dudes with bright, spiky hair and jewels in their belly buttons. And it was an awesome story that just came to me as I wrote. Apparently as you get older, your imagination narrows.  I have (what I think) are extremely amusing anecdotes I’d like to share with the world (although, in reality, probably the only people reading this will be Rachel, her boyfriend, and my mother), but I just can’t seem to get the right words onto my computer screen.

I admire authors/entertainers, like Laurie Notaro and Chelsea Handler, who can write very candid and hilarious accounts of their lives.  Accounts that leave me sitting on the bus, laughing until I cry, as strangers stare at the crazy girl with the book.  I want to write like that.  It probably won’t happen, but it’s something to strive for.

So, here it is: my first attempt at a blog entry. Hopefully, this will get the creative juices flowing…

Song of the day: Carry On by Fun.

The Mixed Tape

15 Mar

My father is the master of the mixed tape. One of my favorite memories is of sitting downstairs in our den with piles and piles of CDs surrounding us as he crafted a mixed cassette tape for me. We’d go through every album he had that had songs on it that I both heard on the radio and loved or songs he wanted me to hear. This process was the beginning of my music education that had probably started before I can remember considering there’s a photograph of me as a baby with giant headphones on my ears.

I learned about everything from this special thing we did together. I learned how to craft the perfect mixed tape. From this education, I started making mixed CDs for myself and friends as gifts. Most recently, I made them for my boyfriend who was in desperate need of musical education when we met. Because of this, I have a timeline of my life in music and I could not be more grateful to my father for this. I can go through my collection of hand crafted albums and be immediately transported to that year in my life. I can feel every emotion I felt at that time and reside in every memory. It’s basically a time travel machine that is operated by simply pressing play.
What made it special for me was how my father went into the process. We’d sit together on the floor and he’d start taking out albums from the giant CD rack. We’d listen to a song I had picked or he’d suggest one or two and when I confirmed, he’d put them onto the tape. He had an order about it so that the tape flowed and ebbed flawlessly. I’m not even kidding. It was always the perfect combination of artists and style of music and I cannot explain how that’s possible because it’d be anything from Tori Amos to Bob Dylan to Nirvana to Counting Crows to Steve Miller Band. This musical education made me pretty kickass. In 3rd or 4th grade, my favorite song was “Round Here” by the Counting Crows and Bethany and I had the lyrics of “Bohemian Rhapsody” down flat. (Kudos to her mom for that one who had it on vinyl with the lyrics on the back and we’d sit in Bethany’s house singing along)

Bethany and I liked to listen to music and completely memorize it. The music we chose to this with was everything from The Lion King soundtrack (she usually played Pumbaa) to Queen to, unfortunately, Billy Ray Cyrus. In my defense, I never liked that song but when your best friend does and has a singing contest at her birthday party to that song, you have to play pretend a little bit. Seriously, how was that song so popular? I dare not name it but you know the one.

With the mixed tapes my dad made as well as her own collection which included Weezer’s The Blue Album, Bethany and I would dance around her room, singing at the top of our lungs, and dressed in her mother’s lingerie. Yes, it sounds odd but let me explain. Bethany’s mom had older nightgowns that she gave to Bethany to sleep in. My mother did the same for me and I had this adorable silky blue nightgown with a matching bathrobe that I wore every time I pretended I was a princess. I always wore this black pantsuit thing, a la Jasmine, when Bethany and I would dance. I actually have it now, in a keepsake box. I can only imagine what we looked like: 8 year olds dancing around and screaming the lyrics to a graphically named NIrvana song (if you have Nevermind, you know the one) Now, my dad loves music so much that he doesn’t really see any harm in it. And there isn’t, really. Music is music. So when I fell in love with Nirvana, it went on a mixed tape. Didn’t matter that I was 8. Little did he know that Bethany and I would proceed to sing it constantly and (fortunately) had no idea what the lyrics really meant at the tender age of 8. My mother was not pleased. But what’s cooler than an 8 year old singing Nirvana? Nothing. Well, maybe the fact she is dressed in a silky teddy that is too big for her and spinning around in circles and calling it dancing.

As I started writing this blog, Bethany wrote on my Facebook wall a quote from a Third Eye Blind song. As per usual, I quoted another lyric from the same song back. This has become our form of communication in a lot of ways. It’s not a code or anything, it is our form of reaching out and saying “Hey, girl, I miss you” or “Hey, girl, remember that time?” We have a massive catalog of songs to choose from, some of which have been selected to play at our weddings so we can dance with each other. That’s normal, right? We throw some movie quotes in there as well but it really has been music that brought us together. I mean, hell, we met at a backyard concert featuring my dad and her mom’s boyfriend. We were made in the name of rock and roll. 

I can only hope that all best friends have this sort of unique connection. I know they do. It’s amazing to me how these little traditions form naturally, with no effort, with no planning, with any expectations. I know everyone can sit and think of the thing they have with the person they consider their best friend. I am grateful mine can always be found on a mixed tape. 

The making of a great compilation tape, like breaking up, is hard to do and takes ages longer than it might seem. You gotta kick off with a killer, to grab attention. Then you got to take it up a notch, but you don’t wanna blow your wad, so then you got to cool it off a notch. There are a lot of rules. Anyway… I’ve started to make a tape… in my head… for Laura. Full of stuff she likes. Full of stuff that make her happy. For the first time I can sort of see how that is done.

-High Fidelity, 2000

The Ides Of March

15 Mar

Our blog begins…