L.S.M.F.T

I've always said, "When I turn 30, I'll quit smoking".

Thirty seemed so far away at the time; so full of possibility, a mile stone. By the time I was thirty I would have a career, a decent apartment, and get ready to settle down. I would have been to Europe at least once and had two serious boyfriends. I based my life's dream on my parents. Both were in their early thirties when they met, fell in love, and started popping out kids.
Now, on the eve of my 29th birthday I realize I haven't experienced any of the above. I live in Murderville with my longest relationship, my cat Yuli. I have a job but no career or prospects. The only thing I have is the promise (or prediction) that I will quit filling my lungs with delicious imported smoke within the year. I'm starting to think I didn't know what I was talking about.

On the one hand, this could be the start to completing my wish list. Maybe if I follow through the rest will fall into place. The realist in me starts yelling every time I think that. Do I really believe my life will turn around if I do this one thing? Come on!

On the other hand, smoking is the one constant in my life. Sad, I know, but true. It's been helping me self-medicate for years and never lets me down. It is the best cure for stress or heartbreak, to cool off after sex, or as an excuse to take a break at work. I spend more time outdoors, much like your neighborhood postman- come rain or shine! It makes me happy. Sure, it may kill me. My family hasn't had a lot of luck in the smoking department, but for every sad story there's a George Burns or Dorothy Parker looming around the corner.

[side note: Everytime I think or hear George Burns, my brains 1st thought is this, then this, then this.]

Maybe I'll end up miserable, bored, and snacking on Cheetos.
Maybe my love life would improve. I always seem to be drawn to non-smokers, but I think part of that is the back of my brain telling me, "Do it! It will be easier to quit when you're 30 if he doesn't smoke as well". Kind of selfish now that I think about it, but what the heart wants…

It's not that it defines me. I think if you asked any of my friends, "smoker" would be far down the list of qualifying characteristics. They're more likely to say I'm crazy or bitchy or smart or funny or interesting. Maybe they'll say I'm attractive in that unconventional way. Eventually, they may say I'm a smoker but really, how often does it come up?

As I get older and more depressed by the events of my life, it's hard to imagine the equally depressed young girl who took up smoking in the first place. We are so different from one another but the same. Sounds like something Camus would go on about. Of course, I'm pretty sure he smoked.

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

Last night I yelled at my friend. I'm not really proud of it but in all fairness I would probably do it again. There is one sure fire way to provoke me into raving madness: "You wouldn't understand."

This phrase has been said to me countless times and has yet to lose it's ability to make me crazy. Not only does it attack my cognitive reasoning but my ability to empathize (the last feeling I truly think I possess). It's discriminatory and insulting to the person you say it to, and makes you look smug. Worse, it is almost always wrong.

I've heard this all my life. It's usually in context to my age but has also been used in conjunction with my skin colour, educational background, religion, sexual orientation, and economic status. Interesting, all things recognized as protected classes by the government.

I was raised to think before I speak and I'll be the first to admit, I'm not very good at it. My verbal filter is eternally clogged and I say whatever comes to mind much of the time. However, I don't pretend to be the expert when I'm not and I don't give an opinion where I don't have one. When I say something, I mean it and I probably have good reason for it as well.

The worst offenders of said unfortunate phrase? Women. We believe our problems are our own and that no one has ever been in the same position as us. We believe our feelings are unique. We believe no one understands us. We are wrong.

Much has been said about being a guys girl. Chelsea Handler, at her show Saturday, said there's a reason for girls without girlfriends; they're cunts (her words, not mine. You know how I feel about the "C" word). Even as a "guys-girl", I've always tried to maintain a few female relationships. There are certain things you don't want to talk to your male friends about, and besides; they usually don't want to go find the perfect sandals or visit Sephora with you. All this being said, I have never heard the above from one of my guy friends- ever. If we get into an argument it usually resolves itself when one of us gets hungry or tired or admits defeat. It is understood that anyone can understand your position if you explain it properly. It is also understood that doing so does not mean they will agree with you.

My anger last night did not originally stem from my friend but the situation she was explaining to me. It upset me greatly and deeply (I was practically shaking). On reflection, I can see how this might have been misinterpreted. However, when the phrase "You just wouldn't understand" was mentioned... What would be the point in talking to someone who would be unable to understand? You might as well talk to a brick wall or a child.

What I regret is not walking away fully when I tried to (another thing- let people walk away. this goes for everyone. We teach our children to walk away from confrontation, yet we keep trying to pull them back in; even as adults). I regret the number of times I said "bullshit". I regret joining the conversation when it was clear it was serious and I just wanted to have a good time. I regret any discomfort caused. But, I don't regret anything I said, maybe just how I said it.

So please, for the love of Pete (whoever he may be), stop saying this phrase.

Let's Get a Bit Serious...

... Just for a second, I promise! I've got my first date in I can't even tell you how long coming up tonight and as you may or may not have figured out, I'm a bit of a mess. Strangers confuse and dismay me. This person doesn't really fall into that category, but as we've never had a real conversation, he might as well be. What the heck fire do people talk about on dates?

Things I think are probably bad conversation starters:
- Anything having to do with my last date/boyfriend
- Why men sometimes suck
- This weird pimple I got right under my ear two days ago
- Religion
- The icelandic volcano
- Babies
- My filthy apartment or why I can't have nice things
- Anything baby sized
- His last girlfriend
- Politics
- The film "300"- I hated it, most guys did not
- Families, past a general acknowledgement that I have one
- Age
- My natural hair colour
- My cat, and why he's trying to kill me (on 2nd thought, that might be amusing and should probably go below)

Things I think are probably Okay to talk about:
- My cat, and why he's trying to kill me
- Any movie other than the one mentioned above
-
-
- ????????

Seriously, a little help?!

You Talking To Me?

If we've never spoken (voice to voice), there's something you should know about me. I was raised by Northerners. I was raised the Northern way. I speak my mind and give my opinion when asked (I try to wait until I'm asked. I don't pussy foot around. You'd love me if I had good news and loathe me if it was bad. I can appreciate the delicate dance others do in conversation; I simply find it hard to follow the steps. The romantic hypochondriac in me wonders if it's possible to have mild Aspergers. Mild sociopathy maybe?

I don't like looking strangers in the eye (apparently makes me rude). I don't always look my friends in the eye! I like to touch things all the time- I'm a very tactile person (unless I don't know you- stranger danger!). If we're talking and I'm playing with my sleeve or folding a napkin or scrolling the mouse on my computer or reaching over to tap an object, I'm not trying to be rude. I have to! I squint when I'm thinking, when I'm listening, when I can't believe what you're saying, when I can't see you. I wear contacts, people! Sometimes I loose focus. I'm not really squinting at you.

It isn't that I don't care... Okay, it is sometimes; it's that I don't know any better. I'm unaware of what I'm doing or how I'm speaking. I'm a proud (first generation) Texan, but the South doesn't always know what to do with me. I'm a Yankee at heart. I am not trying to hurt your feelings. I always say, "You'll know when I'm being mean to you", but maybe you wouldn't. Maybe you see me as rude. Maybe you don't like me. Maybe you wish I would "lighten up", "chill out", or "calm down". I assure you now; I am all those things already. This is just how I talk.

If I want to hurt you or be rude I don't do it with tone, I do it with words. I say, "Gosh, you're rude" or "Quit being an asshole, Asshole"! I've been called a bitch before, but it's usually because I said I didn't like you or maybe I told you a hard truth. My friends enjoy and have come to depend on my reliability to speak my mind and call out bullshit. They try to egg me on just to see what I'll do. For the record, that rarely works.

I don't know how to fix this about myself. Truth be told I'm not sure I would want to. It's an important part of me. However, recently it has been causing problems. My name tag at work used to include a conversation starter- your hometown. Being as I'm from Dallas and work in Dallas I thought that would be boring. So instead, I put "Milford, PA" (where I go every summer). I never had a problem with my speech pattern when those I was talking to thought I was from the Northeast. It certainly helps that I don't sound particularly Southern (unless I'm talking to those that do). I'm a linguistic chameleon. I say "soda" and "Oo ja?" (oh yea?) and "advert-is-mint". I don't pose statements as questions.

So, just give me a break. You'll know when I'm being mean to you.

Follow The Watch...

This month's issue of "Writer's Magazine" focuses on the memoir as literary device and stumbling block. I thought a lot of the tips and tricks offered apply equally to blogging as this is memoir in it's most instant form. The articles suggest to write everything down. Don't worry about story just get memories on the page. How much should you leave in, what should you leave out? How important are the feelings of your subject?

I worry a bit about how the sometimes subjects of my blog will react to what I've written, but never enough to not write what I want to say, simply how I'll say it. I was torn this weekend with an amazingly idiotic story I heard, but decided against retelling it as it did not happen to me or around me. Hersey is not admissible in court and therefore not in my blog. We'll see how long that rule lasts...

The best thing I took away from reading these articles were tips from successful, published memoirists. Most agreed that the best thing you can do is document. Whether it be in a notebook, on 3x5 cards, loose leaf paper; start recording your memories of events both big and small. This is where the blog is, I feel, the perfect medium. A quick note here, and longer story there. You're free to readdress a previous post, to expand on or correct any points or errors. For this, the blog is perfect.

I lay in bed last night struggling to fall asleep. Just moments before I was visibly yawning, now I'm tossing and turning (It always seems to work out this way for me). I keep thinking about the little things, the memories that float in and out of our minds at rapid speed. The ones that don't belong to any significant event but are burned into our cortex all the same.

In my earliest memory, I'm one. The vision is fragmented. I feel like I'm in "The Matrix"- a tv with two club chairs facing it in a never ending white room. I'm in the living room of our apartment in Whitehurst. There's foil on the half moon window to keep the light out. My mother, pregnant, lies on the couch with a wash cloth over her eyes. That's it. I don't know what she was wearing, what the couch looked like, what or who else was in the room. Only that she was pregnant and not feeling well, that there seemed to be a yellow light pushing past the foil and into the room. Perhaps it was afternoon...

When I was three, or at most, four; my sister and I played hide and seek in the living room of a duplex we shared with faceless neighbors. I remember nothing about them except that I was jealous of their kid. He had a motorized car that he would ride around and around the front lawn in. I wanted one so badly. I got a Big Wheel instead.
[side note:Now, when I think of duplex's my mind immediately wanders to the story of "Pyramus and Thisbe".]

My sister and I would take turns hiding behind the couch, the bookcase, the table, then jump out at each other. It seems the concept of hide and seek was known to us, but the execution was still a ways off. Around and around we'd go. Finally, we jumped out and discovered two figures standing at the large picture window in our living room smiling and waving. We screamed bloody murder. It was the first time I had ever been scared. My father ran in to see what had happened, who was hurt. We must have scared my poor grandparents even more. They had driven down from Louisville to surprise us. When they saw us playing, they stopped to watch for a while before knocking. How horrid then and how funny now!

Dear John...

So, the scanner at work isn't working, but I'll be damned if I don't post this after I spent all of 5 minutes writing it! Please enjoy the brilliance of my camera phone:

Tanscribed for your pleasure

Not one to be left off the bandwagon, I too am posting my handwriting for all to witness! This is how most of my writing is: a collection of script and print.
Sometimes, I get caught up in what I'm writing (who am I kidding- all the time), and it becomes difficult for even me to read as letter routinely get laid off or blend unintelligibly. This (<-) is most often the case where "u" or "w" is concerned.
I get compliments on my handwriting though, which blows my mind!

(illustration)

The Main Offenders:

7, Z, 2, f + y= y as in for your (okay, that came off better than normal)

e or E, m or M, R

I (no dot ever!)

this- quickly becomes- Ths (kinda looks like "y" as well, huh)

I mentioned in the lovely Shine's post how I was forced to write in graph paper when I was younger, probably around 7 or 8. My father's handwriting is atrocious and we wanted to spare me such humiliation. Funny, how he never made my younger sister do it. Perhaps

knew I would be the writer. Either way, god bless her, her handwriting can become/is quite unruly. I do love the sharp angles she creates though.

(illustration)

This is what writing in graph paper looks like. Fun huh? Now repeat...

My only real problem with my handwriting, is that I can't stop myself from griping [sic] gripping the pen so hard I get tired after a page + a half. Not so good for a girl who hates typing creative writing/free-flowing thought. I get easily distracted by all the red + green squiggly lines. (What do they want?! Yes, I know that's a

fragment. Maybe I did it on purpose, huh?)

So,...buttons. Wouldn't it be great for a handwriting analyst (graphologist according to Wikipedia) look @ all these blogs + interpret out personality? I love those things! I did it once at the State Fair. Kinda cool, but so vague. I guess that's what I get for using a machine.

(signature)

I'm Not Socially Awkward, I'm Unique!

My lovely and talented friend shine wrote a wonderful blog about her allergy to nice guys complete with “foodgasmic” restaurant review.

I have the same problem with niceness. I get uneasy around compliments, especially about things I don't control. "Nice outfit"- I say “Thanks. I picked it out all by myself.” "You're real pretty"- Uh, I'll tell my Mom and Dad you think so. I’m sure it stems from a feeling on worthlessness, like I am somehow undeserving of compliments, though I don’t know where that comes from. Although it makes me uncomfortable, I recognize that others like and live for compliments, so I make sure to bestow them at regular intervals. “I love your shoes!” “Your hair looks especially great today.” Maybe because I was showered with compliments from my parents and then given the “truth”/tough love after whatever it was falls through.

[side note: to all the parents out there- Don’t lie to your kids. Be kind, but don’t lie. They will not appreciate it later in life.]

The 1st example that comes to mind is from high school. I dropped out of the arts magnet (a kind of special arts school within the school) because it conflicted with drill team. At the time, my logic was sound: I didn’t need to take art classes to create art or be an artist, but I did need dance to be a dancer. When I later dropped out of dance due to the highly bitchy nature of my coach, my dad said, “Well, you know you weren’t the best dancer. You should have stuck with art”. Thanks a lot! I realize I wasn’t the most gifted dancer in the world, but I was pretty good in comparison with the other girls on the team, and I had a lot of fun. I don’t remember you saying anything like that when I was dancing, always “good job!” and “great”. Furthermore, you were super supportive of my dropping art! Why didn’t you speak up then? At least that would have whittled your response down to only 4 words: I told you so. Would I have listened? No, but it would have been nice to hear an honest response when I asked his opinion. You’re not doing me any favors.

This may be why I’m weary of compliments. I don’t believe them anymore. For months, there has been a guy at the bar I hang out normally who flirts and keeps asking me when we’re going out. I assumed it was bar talk, the kind a good bar tender does with his regulars. I joked back, always. A couple weeks ago, he asked me again why I never went out with him and I told him I thought he was joking. You should have seen the look on his face, somewhere between offended and confused. It broke my heart. Naturally, I gave him my number. We’ll see what happens.

What was the point of this post? Oh yea, compliments are like Christmas. They’re full of the best thoughts and intentions, but it’s hard to hide the disappointment from your face. (Come to think of it, the same could be said for dating). It’s comforting to know that others are bound by the same idiosyncrasies as I am. Please, if you meet one of us on the street, don’t look directly at us. Don’t be weirded out if we don’t look at YOU directly. Speak in soft tones. Don’t be offended if we look at you funny after you’ve complimented us. If we just try to understand that no one is exactly like us, the world will be a better place. Certainly, there would be fewer awkward pauses.

I'm not being rude, I'm just loud

Ugh, so it's Saturday and that normally means something random, but I gotta tell you; I got nothing. I spent the week at work, bored, or at home watching TV. The monotony was broken only by jury duty Wednesday and I already wrote about that. I re-discovered that I am very loud and that some people don't like that. Thankfully, others think it's hilarious.

I've kind of lost my filter. I used to be good at hiding my emotions from my face. I used to be good at keeping my thoughts to myself. I used to be better about gossiping. No more. There doesn't seem to be anything stopping me from saying I don't think someone is attractive when they're within earshot. Or, from telling someone exactly what I think about their outfit/opinion/boyfriend or girlfriend.

Is this a bad thing? Perhaps, given the level at which I normally talk, it's not especially great; but what about in general? Is there such a thing as too much honesty? I would think so, but where is the line? I try my hardest not to upset my friends. If I did, I'm sure I'd be looking for new ones real quick. Strangers, well, you know how I feel about them already so I think they're fair game.

Why are there certain topics we're not supposed to talk about? How do we learn more or satisfy our own curiosity if we can't ask questions? Surely there is a way to talk about anything with some grace and respect. Look at the two deadly sins of conversation: politics and religion. Why can't I ask someone about being Republican or Democrat? Why can't we talk about the differences between Catholic and Baptist and Jehovah's Witness? Why are these inappropriate "party conversations"? The only reason we're supposed to avoid these topics is because we cannot be honest with ourselves and we cannot be tolerant of others. Aren't we supposed to learn tolerance at home, or if not there, then at school? As far as I'm concerned, as long as you know what you're talking about or why you feel the way you do, the topic is open for discussion. The only thing I can't tolerate is someone who spouts off an opinion with no way of backing it up. "Because" didn't work when we were kids, and it's not going to work now.

Curiosity may have killed the cat, but he had 8 more lives when he was done. We should embrace that philosophy and charge ourselves to learn more about the people and the world around us. Maybe not in such an abrupt and forward way as I do, but in whatever way works for you. PS- If I ever offend you in conversation, I'm sure I don't mean too. That or you're too sensitive and should really work on that.

Here's a little cartoon c/o I can haz :

Finally, a break through! Or, how I figured out what's wrong with me and the rest of the world.

The common theme cropping up among the blogs I read and the people I know is: Dating. I've waxed poetic on it myself, and it seems like it is the only thing we talk about anymore.

Needless to say, I've been thinking a lot about my singledom and the reasons for it. While I may not be the best looking woman in the world (we can't all be Angie Jolie. sigh), I'm not unfortunate. Hell, even the unfortunate are dating! I clean up nice, can speak eloquently on a number of topics, and am generally nice to those who are nice to me.

The problem seems, to quote one of my favorite movies, "I hate people, but I love gatherings". This may also explain why my new favorite way to break a lull in conversation is to yell "Stranger Danger!" at the top of my lungs.

Last night, I met up with the boys at our neighborhood bar. We sat around outside enjoying the cool weather, smoking, and teasing those who passed by. At some point, our small group of 5 was joined by an annoyingly blond woman. I have no idea who she was. She asked a lot of questions but gave no answers. The general consensus was she was on the prowl looking to cheat on her husband. Whether that is true or not is debatable.

Another guy then joined and started talking to anyone who would listen. He stole my chair when I got up to get a refill, so I stole it back when he did the same. I want to sit next to my friends, dammit!

So, I'm sitting there when he comes back. There are no more chairs, so off he goes to find a new one. Pulling it up behind me, he says, "I hope you know I'm not creepy."

Uh, dude, that's creepy.

He goes on and on. Finally, I turn to him and say, "Why are you telling me any of this?"

I don't care about you or how you sometimes come here "flying solo". Ew.

The first opportunity I get I move my chair. The blond will not stop talking. Soon, she's distracted by another group of strangers who've come to sit at our table as well it seems.

"Why do these people keep sitting near us?"

Thank god for my friend Trevor . A kick ass photographer and General of all things Northeastern, he says exactly what we're all thinking.

"Oh thank god! You're thinking it too", I reply. "I can't figure out how to get them to leave without poking their eyes out with spoons."

"We gotta get out of here."

"Ditto"

I don't like new people. I make friends when I need to. If you asked most of my friends, they would tell you they thought I hated them when we met. I don't learn names until I have to. Sometimes, that can mean a long time. Just because we've met, does not mean I know you from Adam. Usually, we have to hang out socially for a while before I remember, though that is in no way certain. Example: A girl just joined our book club. I've met her a few times, we have mutual friends; but I couldn't tell you her name if my life depended on it. It's something common is all I know. I better figure it out soon, because she is sure to be there tonight.

[side note: If you want your child to avoid going through this, I suggest you name them something different. I'm not saying to take it to celebrity status. There are enough Apple's, Banjo's, and Octavian's in the world. But please, no more Jennifer's, Brian's, Emily's, or Justin's.]

So, back to the point. Until I re-learn how to be social, I will spend my nights at home reading or watching T.V. My only interaction will be with friends who's stories I've already heard, but love dearly.

Suggestions?

(Literally) Drowning in a flood of randomness:

* I am an atrocious speller. I spelled "before" as "befor" until Freshman year (thank you public education!). I think I inherited this from my father. He should be good at it- he helped support the family while playing Mr. Mom by writing freelance for magazines- however, he is not. He keeps a typed list next to the computer with all of his commonly misspelled words. Ever so often, one is added in blue or black ball point ink. After asking how to spell "definitely" for the umpteenth time, I decided to start one of my own. Here's what I have so far:

sarcasm

definitely

possibly

fascinating

inconvenience

preferably

convenient

chotchke/tchotchke

occasionally

furniture

premiere

opponent

apparently

I'm sure there are more, but I also forget that I've started this list. I am adding atrocious to it right now. What's funny is that even though it is well known I cannot spell, people ask me to spell words for them all the time and I usually can!

* Hey! Guy in blue Mustang! ATM's are for quick withdrawls, not for your regular banking. Quit it!

* On a similar note: What's up guy in chartreuse Mercedes? Really? You spent how much to ride around in Kermit's car? Same goes to you, chocolate brown Honda.

[side note: apparently I can spell "chartreuse"]

* My new obsession is Eli Roth. Man is he hilarious! There's a pretty good interview here although it is in need of some editing. His turn in "Inglourious Basterds" was great. While I don't always, or maybe usually, like his movies ("Cabin Fever" was pretty great, but I fell asleep during "Hostel". Still not sure how that happened, but I woke up to someone cutting a guys Achilles then fell right back asleep!). I also must support people who redesign film for Americans. I love the uproar over his movies! He has figured out how to mass market the kinds of back alley, city to city, cult slasher movies I loved from the 70's and 80's. It's amazing what better lighting and film stock can do. Before Roth (and Netflix for that matter), you had to order or search out independent video stores to find anything like this. You could also delve into books dubbed "splattercore" for obvious reasons. (See my love of Poppy Z. Brite from last Sunday). The point is, he's great. I can't wait to see how he turns sodomizing a turkey into a feature length film. Want more? He just joined Twitter .

*On a similar note: Dear Hollywood: Please stop remaking movies. What's the matter with you? I know there are "no original ideas" but come on, this is really pushing it. Here's a sampling of what's gotten me riled up: Harvey (quit it!), Fantastic Voyage (the fx still look good!), Clash of the Titans (I'm actually kind of into this one, the treatment looks new), Footloose, Short Circuit, The Thing (this has already been done twice and no one can out do Carpenter), The Neverending Story (seriously, I wish you wouldn't), Poltergeist, Logan's Run (uh, no!), Rosemary's Baby, Forbidden Planet (if they do anything to it like they did The Day the Earth Stood Still, I'm getting my hanky ready now), Barbarella, Rocky Horror Picture Show, Last Tango in Paris, Rashomon, 13, My Fair Lady, Yellow Submarine (now in 3D!), Suspiria, Children of the Corn (well, maybe this one could work), Dirty Dancing, Red Dawn (how can this be good w/o mullets?), Jesus Christ Superstar (seriously?), Straw Dogs (I was a bit peeved, but then they cast Alexander Skarsgard- forgiven), Robocop, Let the Right One In (proving once again American audiences can't or won't read. This movie just came out and did pretty well!), The Gate (um...yea, I'm not mad at this one either), An American Werewolf in London (quit it squared! Didn't you learn anything from An American Werewolf in Paris?). The list goes on and on and on. You want to remake something? Why don't you pick up a book and read! Maybe you'll find something you like there. I can't believe in the overflowing stack of spec's on your desk there is nothing good to make. I mean, someone keeps giving Eddie Murphy money! There seem to be a lot of horror movies in this mix. That doesn't bother me as much since having a bit more money could result in more gore, but it will be used on CG and I can't abide that. Want to know how to use extra cash wisely? Watch "Nightwatch" and then "Daywatch". You could learn a thing or two from the Russians.

* "Texas now has an official portal" Mark it! Not sure exactly what that means, but my good friend and co-worker Jennie just informed me.

* I just renewed my drivers license and I'm kinda stoked because I get to keep my picture. Not that there's much difference in my appearance when I was 21 and the photo was taken, and now save the hair.

I know it's kind of blurry, that's how my camera phone rolls, but you get the gist. Let the odd looks from bar tenders and bouncers continue!

*So, I was outside smoking and got to thinking: The scientist really need to get moving on The Jetson's technology asap. I'm not sure why this popped into my mind, probably something to do with me huddling under a tiny portico in the rain. I mean, think about how much easier our lives would be if we could travel in tubes and ride conveyor belts through the house that washed us, fed us, and probably burped us! I can't tell you how much I would appreciate the effort Scientists. Get to it!

So You Think I Talk Funny...

I’ve mentioned previously how much I enjoy profanity- using it, hearing creative uses of it, collecting new phrases, everything. Maybe I was a pirate in a previous life or simply because I was raised by a Navy man and it’s in my blood, I don’t know. There’s something about it. It’s bad. You’re not supposed to do it, but it doesn’t hurt anyone. It’s something grown-ups did when you were a kid, and now that you’re grown, it’s something you can do as well.

A bunch of us were talking about this the other day over drinks on the “patio” of our favorite weekday hang out. It was interesting to hear the number of people still afraid of profanity. They whisper the words. They don’t use it in front of their parents, even if their parents do. It’s like cursing has become the last hold out to adulthood and if we cling to it, we will never really be grown up. Well I have news for you- You are an adult, and while your parents will always see you as their little boy/girl, they also realize that you are 25, 28, 32, etc. You are an adult!!! It’s okay to say, “fuck”.

As you know, profanity is strongly frowned upon in the work place. This has lead to creative uses of common words as placeholders for what I really want to say. My favorites are:

Shiitake mushroom!
Merde!
Mercredi!
Donkey!
Nugget!
Snickle-fritz!
Frak!
Fudge!
Purple!
Frankenberry!
Biscuit!

The list goes on and on. I just realized how food heavy it was... huh. You have any good ones; I’d love to hear them. I am always looking to expand my explanations.

What’s worse is that I now say these words instead of the actual curse words even when I’m not at work. It’s hilarious!

“Did you just yell ‘biscuit’”?
“Why, yes, yes I did and I’ll mind you not to stare!”

"Let's hug it out Bitch"

I’m not much of a hugger anymore. I prefer the standard wave or perhaps the shoulder grab. Certainly there are people I hug- my friend Paul comes to mind. I can’t enter the room without him assaulting me or demanding I hug him. It’s cute really. The thing is, I’d kinda like to stop it there most of the time, but because we hugged, now others feel they are owed the honor. My aversion to hugging was recently called out and I had to think of how to respond. There are several reasons why I may not hug you:

1. I don’t know you.
2. I would classify our relationship as “acquaintances” rather than friends. The only acquaintances I may hug are related to me (and even then…)
3. Your personal hygiene is in question
4. My personal hygiene is in question
5. I don’t like you
6. I have a crush on you
7. I’m with someone of the opposite sex (that means a date) and I don’t want to confuse them.
8. I’m on a date with you and am confused myself as to how to end it so I’ll probably end up waving at you like the genius I am.

What I don’t understand most is this entitlement that people/we feel towards the actions of others. I don’t have to hug you. I don’t have to invite you to everything I do. I don’t have to and it shouldn’t bother you that I haven’t. Certainly, if you are the only one being left out, that would be mean or you fall into the #5 category. I would never do that. But I don’t like feeling obliged.

It’s like mandatory volunteerism that I spoke about recently with a friend. It’s not that I don’t like volunteering (or it is, can’t I just make a donation?); it’s more that I don’t like being told I have to do it. Unless you are a judge and I’m in trouble, keep it to yourself. If you want me to volunteer because it’s important to you or to the company I work for, fine. Just let me pick my own activity and schedule because, I don’t want to hang out with my boss. She’s a lovely woman and we have work happy hours and dinners sometimes and they’re great. But, she’s my boss, not my friend, and I don’t hug her either.

It all comes back to this social stigma I’ve spoken about before. I prefer to do a lot of things on my own and often by myself. Hugging is a physical connection and one that is reserved for those whom I want to touch. That may or may not include you and that’s fine. I don’t expect you to hug me (unless your Paul and then get over here!) if it is not something we normally do. And if it’s not, it is up to me to determine when and if we ever will. You are free to try to hug me, I am free to stand awkwardly praying for it to end.

A Place for Everything and Everything in it's place

Symptoms of Type A Behavior:
1. An intrinsic insecurity or insufficient level of self-esteem, which is considered to be the root cause of the syndrome. This is believed to be covert and therefore less observable.
2. Time urgency and impatience, which causes irritation and exasperation.
3. Free floating hostility, which can be triggered by even minor incidents.

Maybe I’m not crazy or a bitch, it’s just my Type A acting up. I wonder if I can get away with that excuse.

“Sorry I ran into you, I didn’t see you there. It’s my Type A”.
“I would love to help you, but I can’t with my Type A”
“That’s a very flattering offer, thank you. However, I must decline due to my Type A wanting to flick you in the nose”.

I always thought of myself as “Type A” at work. My desk is an exemplar of organization. Everything is organized and stacked neatly. I’m a little ashamed to say if something is slightly off or if it’s been moved I get very distressed. At home, I’m not nearly as clean and organized, although my piles of junk are also stacked neatly and I know where everything is. I always thought “type A personality” simply meant that you were neat and organized. That you enjoyed the art of list making and checking things off said list. I had no idea it lent itself to so much more. Reading what Wikipedia says about it (listed above), I was surprised to see so many more of my everyday personality traits explained.

1. I don’t think I’m overtly insecure or have low-self esteem. Of course, we all have things we are self conscious of. My level of laziness and disdain for household chores has prevented me from entertaining company. I often joke that I clean my apartment once a year, right before my birthday since I know I’ll have company, but it’s true. Until November, I don’t even like hanging out there for too long.

2. Urgency, Impatience, irritation, exasperation. The site also lists “highly competitive, ambitions, and difficulty relaxing. Yea, that’s pretty much me. It has gotten harder and harder to cover my irritation with people. I love the line, “I hate people, but I love gatherings” (brownie points for naming that movie), and it sums me up pretty well. I don’t like being alone all the time and prefer going out to staying in, however, the level of stupidity and “laissez-faire” attitude I encounter when I go out drives me crazy. See also: previous post about beating people up. I’m an angry driver. I want to stab most of the people I meet in bars. I hate people who ask questions without waiting to see if it’s answered (most commonly found at the movies and in work seminars and trainings). Just be patient! All will be revealed.

3. Free floating hostility from minor incidents? Yea, I think I covered that.

I wonder if there’s anything I can do to correct this behaviour, or if there is, if I would even want to. These little bits form my personality, make me who I am. It’s like in High School when I took Prozac (come on, who hasn’t these days?) and it made me more disinterested in the world. What if I were nicer, more calm, relaxed? Would anyone even recognize me? Would I recognize myself?
I can’t wait to drop my “Type A” handicap on the next sad sack who pisses me off. On a scale of hilarity, I hope it’s a 10.

Proof of my Idiosyncrasy #32:

I believe inanimate objects have feelings. Now, let me try to explain.

I’m a collector. I don’t think I’ve voluntarily thrown anything away since 2000. Sometimes things break, or get lost, or my cat exacts his revenge on me by pissing on anything within 2 meters of him; but otherwise I’m a packrat. I try to limit my junk to certain categories and trinkets: shot glasses, Nightmare Before Christmas figurines, Halloween chotchke’s, comic books, records, pictures of sad cats (preferably on velvet), and the like. I haven’t thrown a CD away since I was 14 and embarrassed to own Madonna (not very punk rock). Fast forward a few years and I had to buy it all over again for a dance performance. I made a vow right then and there to keep it all!

The problem with this is that I feel bad for my things sometimes. My CD’s feel the brunt of my burden. I feel bad for the little guys forgotten in the back of the closet or thrown behind the seats in my car. So, periodically, I pull them out and try to make them feel better. That is how my playlist last weekend came to include: Roxette, 10,000 Maniacs, Alkaline Trio, Hair Soundtrack, a riot grrrl comp, The Cardigans, Avenged Sevenfold, and Neko Case.

I don’t want my CD’s to get lonely or mad at me! I don’t feel the same way about my books. In fact, I find it difficult to read a book more than once because I remember all of it far too well, dialog included! With few exceptions, I don’t even like watching my movies again for the same reasons. Of course, no Halloween would be complete without a viewing of “Beetlejuice” or “The Worst Witch”, and Christmas would be lost without “Elf” and “The Nightmare Before Christmas”. I watch “Elizabeth” and “Gosford Park” at least once a year, but that may have more to do with the costuming and actors than anything else.
Why do my CD’s torment me so???