I find it interesting that my generation ("Generation We Have No Clue What We Are Doing") communicates via music lyrics by way of social media. No longer do we sit in anguish and stew over whatever stress is swirling around us - we put Cannibal Corpse lyrics in ALL CAPS on our Facebook pages. I could probably go on for ten minutes giving examples of different situations that we convey our feelings through a bad Taylor Swift song instead of calling someone up on the phone and telling them you're happy, sad, mad, etc. BUT that would only entertain me.
I am a huge culprit. I will stand on my soap box and wave a really big flag that has those bad Taylor Swift lyrics on it before I actually say something to your face. Why? Because confrontation isn't sexy anymore. And if you're using someone else's words you can always deny them in the end.
FACT.
I have some really good friends who I wouldn't know how they honestly felt about things until I checked their status updates. Is it "Hallelujah" lyrics? (specifically the Rufus Wainwright rendition, obviously) or is it "Club Can't Even Handle Me" by Flo Rida blowing up their page?
It's not that I think any of us are lying. I think we are just so brainwashed into thinking that we have to be positive all the time. Most people are so afraid to be a downer that they refuse to admit that they aren't feeling top notch. That life sucks right now. That their boyfriend just cheated on them with an Appleblees waitress. Whatever. Whatever it is - a smile is supposed to get you through. And at the core of it? Smiling doesn't get us through, unfortunately. Which is why we let someone else "speak" for us.
This Lyrical Passive Aggressiveness has gotten so bad that there was a point in time when eight different people had the SAME Eminem lyrics as their updates. Want to know what I deducted from that?
a) We are all SO LAME THAT WE HAVE LET EMINEM ROCK AGAIN.
b) You are sad and unsatisfied with whatever situation you are in.
Awesome. There's nothing wrong with that! We all know we post updates so others are knowing how we are feeling. So if a sad one is on there maybe a friend will give you a call or an old fling will see you are still indie-cool or your Mom will ask you if you need medication. Why can't we just like...say it ourselves?
Who cares if confrontation isn't sexy anymore? Who cares if we seem like downers when the day went to shit? Sometimes I don't like you and sometimes I am sad! I (we) should be able to say that instead of hiding behind Lady Gaga.
And just so you know? THE CLUB CAN'T EVEN HANDLE ME RIGHT NOW.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
Monday, October 11, 2010
well, this was unexpected
I don't know how to start off this post without sounding like I am using this blog as a sounding board for all of my not-dealt-with bullshit but I'm pretty sure that's what this year is all about anyway. Not dealing with anything and then sometimes feeling like I should deal with little things that probably have a lot to do with the big picture. I'm sure that explanation makes no sense whatsoever but does anything I do? Let's be honest here.
Maybe on my road to being able to not need anything, I learned to block things out until I feel like feeling about them. Generally speaking, I can forget I feel anything for quite some time until I make myself remember again. Possibly the ultimate defense mechanism? Possibly a present to myself after all those ridiculous teenage years of feeling EVERYTHING so vividly and passionately? Who knows. I just know I do this now.
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about *L. *L and I had a pretty curious relationship from the time I was nineteen up until last year. We were ultimately best friends who would fall in and out of love with each other randomly, violently and most of the time, stupidly. We were there for each other when we were both at our worst and there was no one I trusted more. And I knew he felt the same way about me. I never once doubted it.
We'd use each other in the most ridiculous of ways. When we were in relationships with other people - we'd almost beg each other to sabotage it. There was never any reason. We both had fallen in love with other people intermittently throughout our friendship yet would always somehow be giggling behind their backs. It didn't seem malicious at the time because we were best friends and that's how it had always been. I didn't know any better or at least pretended that I didn't.
In between all this we were always fighting. He was always blaming me for leaving the south and I was always blaming him for not coming after me. It was a co-dependent relationship that even though I am a relatively smart girl, it never dawned on me what it meant until it was too late.
One day *L went off to join the army and came back the man I always wished he was. I didn't understand our dynamic anymore and he came back with a girlfriend.
This time I felt different. It hit me like a ton of bricks that I had always loved him. I had to fall in love with other people to find out and we had to get to this place to finally have it all work.
When I told him, he blamed me for leaving him years ago. He blamed me for making him watch me fall in love with someone else. He felt victorious because I now knew how he felt about me before. Before what? Before the army? Before this girl? Before I actually grew up and stopped playing games? What?
I knew after that nothing could ever be the same. They say it in movies all the time and it's all dramatic and silly but this was the truth. There was a tangible shift in our entire timeline and no matter what - there was no going back and I genuinely didn't want to.
There were a lot of things he told me and I never once had a reason to not believe him. We had never once lied to each other even when it hurt.
Around that time *M relapsed. Obviously, I needed my best friend and the one person in the world who I wouldn't fear crying with and telling him exactly how I felt. Our communication had been sparse in the few months leading up the relapse because I was trying to give him his space to figure out his next move. I never got a response to my own text - instead I got:
I'm engaged.
I've never dropped a phone before but I smashed it all over the back room of my work. I felt sick. For all the years I thought I had the upper hand and it ended with a text message that made me stop believing in "the normal course of things." I won't use a cliche word like fate and cheapen the experience - but I'm sure you can picture it.
I panicked and called my girlfriends who were mortified for me and also advised me to delete him out of my life. I knew I should. I knew I had just heard another huge blow of information after, you know, my brother relapsing from cancer. But I couldn't. Not until I decided. Until I made it my decision.
I had to come to terms with the fact that I would always have the impulse to call him when someone said something funny or to tell him a juicy story. Strangely, it didn't take too long to figure out that I was worth more than those impulses and I could tell someone else, goddamnit. And I did. I deleted him from every social network I could and deleted his phone number from my phone so I couldn't cave and call him when the tequila got to me.
I got a lot of calls, messages and texts from him after that. I didn't listen to them or read them which is unlike me. I usually like to torture myself a little bit. The last call came from the last week of *M's life when he was on hospice. My Mom saw the caller ID before I did and I saw the sadness in her eyes for me. As her son was dying. And I knew I had to end this once and for all.
So I did.
Please leave me alone.
And that was it. 5 years like it never existed.
I miss him every day. And I want him to be happy every day. I love him enough to know we can't be in each other's lives without intentionally or unintentionally stealing too many pieces of each other. It doesn't make it easier when I stumble (*ahem* yeah right) on a picture of him with his pretty wife in front of their pretty house. But in the same breath I look at them and realize that that wouldn't have been us anyway. And somehow, depending on how I chose to feel that day - it makes me feel a little bit better.
Maybe on my road to being able to not need anything, I learned to block things out until I feel like feeling about them. Generally speaking, I can forget I feel anything for quite some time until I make myself remember again. Possibly the ultimate defense mechanism? Possibly a present to myself after all those ridiculous teenage years of feeling EVERYTHING so vividly and passionately? Who knows. I just know I do this now.
Lately, I've been thinking a lot about *L. *L and I had a pretty curious relationship from the time I was nineteen up until last year. We were ultimately best friends who would fall in and out of love with each other randomly, violently and most of the time, stupidly. We were there for each other when we were both at our worst and there was no one I trusted more. And I knew he felt the same way about me. I never once doubted it.
We'd use each other in the most ridiculous of ways. When we were in relationships with other people - we'd almost beg each other to sabotage it. There was never any reason. We both had fallen in love with other people intermittently throughout our friendship yet would always somehow be giggling behind their backs. It didn't seem malicious at the time because we were best friends and that's how it had always been. I didn't know any better or at least pretended that I didn't.
In between all this we were always fighting. He was always blaming me for leaving the south and I was always blaming him for not coming after me. It was a co-dependent relationship that even though I am a relatively smart girl, it never dawned on me what it meant until it was too late.
One day *L went off to join the army and came back the man I always wished he was. I didn't understand our dynamic anymore and he came back with a girlfriend.
This time I felt different. It hit me like a ton of bricks that I had always loved him. I had to fall in love with other people to find out and we had to get to this place to finally have it all work.
When I told him, he blamed me for leaving him years ago. He blamed me for making him watch me fall in love with someone else. He felt victorious because I now knew how he felt about me before. Before what? Before the army? Before this girl? Before I actually grew up and stopped playing games? What?
I knew after that nothing could ever be the same. They say it in movies all the time and it's all dramatic and silly but this was the truth. There was a tangible shift in our entire timeline and no matter what - there was no going back and I genuinely didn't want to.
There were a lot of things he told me and I never once had a reason to not believe him. We had never once lied to each other even when it hurt.
Around that time *M relapsed. Obviously, I needed my best friend and the one person in the world who I wouldn't fear crying with and telling him exactly how I felt. Our communication had been sparse in the few months leading up the relapse because I was trying to give him his space to figure out his next move. I never got a response to my own text - instead I got:
I'm engaged.
I've never dropped a phone before but I smashed it all over the back room of my work. I felt sick. For all the years I thought I had the upper hand and it ended with a text message that made me stop believing in "the normal course of things." I won't use a cliche word like fate and cheapen the experience - but I'm sure you can picture it.
I panicked and called my girlfriends who were mortified for me and also advised me to delete him out of my life. I knew I should. I knew I had just heard another huge blow of information after, you know, my brother relapsing from cancer. But I couldn't. Not until I decided. Until I made it my decision.
I had to come to terms with the fact that I would always have the impulse to call him when someone said something funny or to tell him a juicy story. Strangely, it didn't take too long to figure out that I was worth more than those impulses and I could tell someone else, goddamnit. And I did. I deleted him from every social network I could and deleted his phone number from my phone so I couldn't cave and call him when the tequila got to me.
I got a lot of calls, messages and texts from him after that. I didn't listen to them or read them which is unlike me. I usually like to torture myself a little bit. The last call came from the last week of *M's life when he was on hospice. My Mom saw the caller ID before I did and I saw the sadness in her eyes for me. As her son was dying. And I knew I had to end this once and for all.
So I did.
Please leave me alone.
And that was it. 5 years like it never existed.
I miss him every day. And I want him to be happy every day. I love him enough to know we can't be in each other's lives without intentionally or unintentionally stealing too many pieces of each other. It doesn't make it easier when I stumble (*ahem* yeah right) on a picture of him with his pretty wife in front of their pretty house. But in the same breath I look at them and realize that that wouldn't have been us anyway. And somehow, depending on how I chose to feel that day - it makes me feel a little bit better.
Monday, October 4, 2010
The Checklist.
So sometimes I have a social life (or some semblance of it.) Sometimes someone will ask me to do something or go somewhere and I have realized that I have an actual checklist that runs through my head determining my response. This checklist determines if I accept, decline or pretend to accept and then ignore your text/call when the time comes for said event to occur. I'm a bitch, sorry. So when I realized I had this RETARDED list, I had to share it with you all. So you could make fun of me.
Do I have to wear pants?
Are vampires involved?
Is Jersey Shore on?
Would my Grandma think I was cool?
Do I get free food?
Will someone be taking pictures of me?
Can my dog come?
Will I need Purell?
Are boys with muddy trucks and baseball hats invited?
Did I leave my flask at my parents?
What's the likelihood that Taylor Hanson will be there? OLD HABITS DIE HARD, YA'LL.
So since it is now fall and it's cold and it will be harder to get me out of hibernation - just some tips on what goes through my head when you want to make some plans. I mean, I may outwardly sigh if not all of these questions are answered in my head to my liking but as long as my Grandma would think I was cool, that's all that realllly matters.
Do I have to wear pants?
Are vampires involved?
Is Jersey Shore on?
Would my Grandma think I was cool?
Do I get free food?
Will someone be taking pictures of me?
Can my dog come?
Will I need Purell?
Are boys with muddy trucks and baseball hats invited?
Did I leave my flask at my parents?
What's the likelihood that Taylor Hanson will be there? OLD HABITS DIE HARD, YA'LL.
So since it is now fall and it's cold and it will be harder to get me out of hibernation - just some tips on what goes through my head when you want to make some plans. I mean, I may outwardly sigh if not all of these questions are answered in my head to my liking but as long as my Grandma would think I was cool, that's all that realllly matters.
Thursday, September 23, 2010
sweet caroline, bun bun bun, good times never seemed so good
A lot of the time I put a big emphasis on the idea of "home" and surrounding myself with the people I love at all times. Because I did a lot of traveling when I was a kid - I was able to comprehend at a pretty young age that you can live anywhere, burn every bridge and run super far away and eventually everything catches up with you. You will always still be stuck with yourself and the bullshit crap that encompasses you. Seriously. I said that and meant that.
I was fortunate to allow a little bit of my flight instinct free from its cage this past week and I fled the state. Literally ran in the opposite direction screaming. This time I didn't feel like I was doing myself or anyone a disservice by peacing out - it felt freeing. For the first time in a long time I was able to get away and feel refreshed instead of guilty and disappointed! Mazel tov to me!
I hooped and hollered. Drank too much. Wandered Observed. Existed. It was perfect.
I didn't want to see a single face from my everyday life, hear a nagging word or see a pouting mouth. I was triumphant and I rewarded myself with way too much overpriced gourmet chocolate.
It sure helped that the weather was magnificent and that Boston has a population worth looking at and that they're nice enough to tell me I'm going to make an attractive kid or move their car for me when I can't parallel park. It was the kind of weekend that was effortless with no strings attached. My entire life is full of effort and a feeling of impending doom. I know it sounds tragic but it isn't meant to be - it's just the way it is, ya know? So when I can get a little bit of the sweet stuff, I'm gonna snag it. And then buy some chocolate to make it even better!
I was fortunate to allow a little bit of my flight instinct free from its cage this past week and I fled the state. Literally ran in the opposite direction screaming. This time I didn't feel like I was doing myself or anyone a disservice by peacing out - it felt freeing. For the first time in a long time I was able to get away and feel refreshed instead of guilty and disappointed! Mazel tov to me!
I hooped and hollered. Drank too much. Wandered Observed. Existed. It was perfect.
I didn't want to see a single face from my everyday life, hear a nagging word or see a pouting mouth. I was triumphant and I rewarded myself with way too much overpriced gourmet chocolate.
It sure helped that the weather was magnificent and that Boston has a population worth looking at and that they're nice enough to tell me I'm going to make an attractive kid or move their car for me when I can't parallel park. It was the kind of weekend that was effortless with no strings attached. My entire life is full of effort and a feeling of impending doom. I know it sounds tragic but it isn't meant to be - it's just the way it is, ya know? So when I can get a little bit of the sweet stuff, I'm gonna snag it. And then buy some chocolate to make it even better!
Thursday, August 19, 2010
pride is an asshole
*this post will have an embarrassing amount of "probably's" and "I's". My apologies for the passive aggressive narcissism, my dear friends. =)
I have come to the soft conclusion that I have slowly built myself to need nothing.
This may have started sometime in middle school when I decided I didn't *need* to speak up all the time. I could still hold convictions and opinions and whatever else you feel at 14 and just basically not say them. I think that was the start especially since the summer after I stopped speaking up like 3 boys professed their love for me. I came off shy and coy when really I was just trying to shut up. (That lasted long LOL) This subconsciously probably gave me positive reinforcement.
*M getting sick when I was eighteen probably had a lot to do with it also. That was the summer I was going to college and quickly turned from a codependent wide-eyed girl to someone completely alone and without parents at one of the most crucial times. This was the time I was waiting for my entire life and instead of enjoying it - I had to teach myself how to live a completely different way. This time it was not a choice to stop needing - it was forced.
My brother got sick again 7 years lately and subsequently died. All throughout the time he was dying right in front of me, the funeral time, and the months after his death I have managed without a significant other. I have not had that one person you generally go to when you are in pain. I have been through the kind of hell most people will thankfully never encounter and I did it all on my own. I relied on no one but myself.
My friends are all leaving to start their lives elsewhere. I feel slightly numb to it because I know I will learn to not need them either. It is apparently my first reaction after so many years of slowly eliminating that instinct.
I feel like pride has a lot to do with it in the end. If I have been able to practically extinguish vulnerability in my life - why let down guards for new boys, new friends, my family - when in the end I'll just start needing them and consequently something will occur that I'll have to rearrange my head again? It would be MY fault for allowing that to happen instead of having it happen to me like it has for so many years. I'm strong enough by myself, anyway.
And then...there is that small voice in the back of my mind that repeats that stupid cliche:
God gives you what you need not what you want blah blah.
So if I continue needing nothing...will I get nothing? Because that, my friends, would suck.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Summer of No Pants
Let me start off by saying that I love a good challenge.
My favorite thing to do is to take a change of clothes with me after work and completely change into said outfit while driving my car to a destination.
There is no reason why I can't change my clothes at work or wherever I am going. None whatsoever. I just find that I get a lot of satisfaction from being able to physically drive my car the entire way and not get pulled over or smash into a vehicle while taking my dress off in my Honda going 45 down a city street.
When I type it out it sounds pretty voyeuristic and weird, but whatever. Have you seen Strange Sex on TLC? I'm like a 3 on the weird factor compared to these looners. (And there is actually an episode ON "looners" who are sexytime lovers of balloons.) Oh yeah, I'm a 3 or less.
Just to clarify, I am not interested in anyone catching me doing this - it's just that I CAN do it. I would probably find the same satisfaction in changing my sheets blindfolded or eating soup with a fork victoriously. I'm just easily personally provoked by my "you totally can't do that..." voice.
So since I love a good personal challenge, I have proclaimed this the Summer of No Pants. I think I was egged on when I heard some quote about girls not wearing pants anymore. Like yeah, I'm generally a girly girl but I'll wear jeans on the weekend and trousers to work on occasion. But when I heard some guy talking about how girls don't wear pants...I had to spend a summer trying to prove him right.
I have made it a point to only wear skirts, dresses and leggings/yoga attire from June through September. There have been some bumps in the road - that entire two week fashion disaster called Israel and today I wore jeans to the aquarium because it's "that time" and I felt like this hippo:
But other than that - no pants. I thought I would be annoyed by having to pass over the pants selection in my closet but instead I am simply delighted to be 100% dressed up or in leggings like I'm Lindsay Lohan pre-jail. My Mom *likes* my facebook status whenever I talk about the Summer of No Pants. I think she's delighted with my motivation. I also think she hopes this gets me laid. Either way, I'm glad to have her support.
And you know, just for good measure - I'm losing 20 pounds if the Mets make it to the World Series and 25 if they win it. So God, if you're interested in me with a hot bod - I suggest you help along my sucky ass baseball team and provoke my *DARE ME* attitude. JUST SAYING.
My favorite thing to do is to take a change of clothes with me after work and completely change into said outfit while driving my car to a destination.
There is no reason why I can't change my clothes at work or wherever I am going. None whatsoever. I just find that I get a lot of satisfaction from being able to physically drive my car the entire way and not get pulled over or smash into a vehicle while taking my dress off in my Honda going 45 down a city street.
When I type it out it sounds pretty voyeuristic and weird, but whatever. Have you seen Strange Sex on TLC? I'm like a 3 on the weird factor compared to these looners. (And there is actually an episode ON "looners" who are sexytime lovers of balloons.) Oh yeah, I'm a 3 or less.
Just to clarify, I am not interested in anyone catching me doing this - it's just that I CAN do it. I would probably find the same satisfaction in changing my sheets blindfolded or eating soup with a fork victoriously. I'm just easily personally provoked by my "you totally can't do that..." voice.
So since I love a good personal challenge, I have proclaimed this the Summer of No Pants. I think I was egged on when I heard some quote about girls not wearing pants anymore. Like yeah, I'm generally a girly girl but I'll wear jeans on the weekend and trousers to work on occasion. But when I heard some guy talking about how girls don't wear pants...I had to spend a summer trying to prove him right.
I have made it a point to only wear skirts, dresses and leggings/yoga attire from June through September. There have been some bumps in the road - that entire two week fashion disaster called Israel and today I wore jeans to the aquarium because it's "that time" and I felt like this hippo:
But other than that - no pants. I thought I would be annoyed by having to pass over the pants selection in my closet but instead I am simply delighted to be 100% dressed up or in leggings like I'm Lindsay Lohan pre-jail. My Mom *likes* my facebook status whenever I talk about the Summer of No Pants. I think she's delighted with my motivation. I also think she hopes this gets me laid. Either way, I'm glad to have her support.
And you know, just for good measure - I'm losing 20 pounds if the Mets make it to the World Series and 25 if they win it. So God, if you're interested in me with a hot bod - I suggest you help along my sucky ass baseball team and provoke my *DARE ME* attitude. JUST SAYING.
Monday, July 26, 2010
Esreem vitaysha!
So I thought I would do this post differently. I thought I would backdate what I wrote in Israel like I was still there and have important and interesting commentary about the things I saw and the people I met and the feelings I felt.
Instead, I'm a little drunk off the wine I am drinking and am surrounded by pictures I am choosing to go on the wall in my living room. Next to pictures of my brother and my friends and real life. Real life.
Let me begin by saying that Israel is by far nothing as you imagine. I always thought Israel was like the USA except everything was in another language and you'd think nothing of an explosion going off in the supermarket next to where you're shopping for work clothes. This is not true. There is tons of land and tons of desert. You can drive for miles and see absolutely nothing and then all of a sudden come across a small settlement that is categorized religiously.
Everything has history. Everything has a story. You walk with the Bible and with the political storm that is this country's past and present. There is no living in Israel without an opinion. On everything. Here in the US we can blissfully go throughout our day without caring about the BP oil spill or the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The people in Israel must know where they stand on everything or else they could cease to exist. Literally.
Everywhere I looked there were connections forged. The people on my trip forged connections with one another. Some found connection with their religion. Others found connection with the country. Others still found connections with themselves.
I didn't find any of that. Thinking about it after I got home, I realized what I found. And I found it in the trailer of a movie. In the trailer for Eat, Pray, Love Julia Roberts drabbles on about something and about how boring her life has been and then she says:
"...I want to marvel at something..."
And it clicked. I was able to marvel at something without the complications of anything regarding my real life. In my real life I make incredible connections and am smart and have opinions and love things deeply and passionately and laugh really fucking hard.
On this trip - all I did was take it in and be a listener and a sponge. I got to ride camels! Climb Masada! Raft down the Jordan! Eat hummus every.single.day! Without complication of what reality is or the obligation to even be myself. I just was part of the scenery and let a place bigger than I was lead my life for a week and a half. AND IT WAS GLORIOUS. It was absolutely exactly what I didn't know I needed.
At one point we were in the Judean Desert at the hokiest part of our trip - a fake Bedouin village. It was pitch black and we had some free time to wander around. And we look up and there's shooting stars everywhere. And I just lost it. I literally sobbed for two hours straight because I knew it was *M showing me he was there with me. And it was ok to do it! I had to run halfway across the world to cry like that over my dead brother. And not even at the Wailing Wall but at a fake village with camels snoring everywhere. It felt right. Because *M will never get to go on a trip like that. Because *M would have looked at me to see if he should be afraid of the camels or not. Because every stupid fear I had, he had to have.
To be honest, *M would have NEVER gone on that trip but he never got the option and I did. And I feel guilty every day for having options.
There were siblings on my bus. I wanted to tell them how lucky they were and how I wish we could have been them. But I could barely even squeak out anything about myself until one of the last days when I was wearing an Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation tshirt. Alex's dad wanted a picture of someone at the Dead Sea in one of their crazy bright yellow shirts. I was proud to sport it.
I don't know. I feel like I'd be minimizing this trip if I spouted out names and events. I'm still letting this all sink in. I'm still looking at pictures and smiling and feeling waterfalls on my back. How it felt to not have a hairdryer. I'm remembering how manners don't exist in Israel yet everyone will look at you and say 'welcome home'. Why, thank you...
Instead, I'm a little drunk off the wine I am drinking and am surrounded by pictures I am choosing to go on the wall in my living room. Next to pictures of my brother and my friends and real life. Real life.
Let me begin by saying that Israel is by far nothing as you imagine. I always thought Israel was like the USA except everything was in another language and you'd think nothing of an explosion going off in the supermarket next to where you're shopping for work clothes. This is not true. There is tons of land and tons of desert. You can drive for miles and see absolutely nothing and then all of a sudden come across a small settlement that is categorized religiously.
Everything has history. Everything has a story. You walk with the Bible and with the political storm that is this country's past and present. There is no living in Israel without an opinion. On everything. Here in the US we can blissfully go throughout our day without caring about the BP oil spill or the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. The people in Israel must know where they stand on everything or else they could cease to exist. Literally.
Everywhere I looked there were connections forged. The people on my trip forged connections with one another. Some found connection with their religion. Others found connection with the country. Others still found connections with themselves.
I didn't find any of that. Thinking about it after I got home, I realized what I found. And I found it in the trailer of a movie. In the trailer for Eat, Pray, Love Julia Roberts drabbles on about something and about how boring her life has been and then she says:
"...I want to marvel at something..."
And it clicked. I was able to marvel at something without the complications of anything regarding my real life. In my real life I make incredible connections and am smart and have opinions and love things deeply and passionately and laugh really fucking hard.
On this trip - all I did was take it in and be a listener and a sponge. I got to ride camels! Climb Masada! Raft down the Jordan! Eat hummus every.single.day! Without complication of what reality is or the obligation to even be myself. I just was part of the scenery and let a place bigger than I was lead my life for a week and a half. AND IT WAS GLORIOUS. It was absolutely exactly what I didn't know I needed.
At one point we were in the Judean Desert at the hokiest part of our trip - a fake Bedouin village. It was pitch black and we had some free time to wander around. And we look up and there's shooting stars everywhere. And I just lost it. I literally sobbed for two hours straight because I knew it was *M showing me he was there with me. And it was ok to do it! I had to run halfway across the world to cry like that over my dead brother. And not even at the Wailing Wall but at a fake village with camels snoring everywhere. It felt right. Because *M will never get to go on a trip like that. Because *M would have looked at me to see if he should be afraid of the camels or not. Because every stupid fear I had, he had to have.
To be honest, *M would have NEVER gone on that trip but he never got the option and I did. And I feel guilty every day for having options.
There were siblings on my bus. I wanted to tell them how lucky they were and how I wish we could have been them. But I could barely even squeak out anything about myself until one of the last days when I was wearing an Alex's Lemonade Stand Foundation tshirt. Alex's dad wanted a picture of someone at the Dead Sea in one of their crazy bright yellow shirts. I was proud to sport it.
I don't know. I feel like I'd be minimizing this trip if I spouted out names and events. I'm still letting this all sink in. I'm still looking at pictures and smiling and feeling waterfalls on my back. How it felt to not have a hairdryer. I'm remembering how manners don't exist in Israel yet everyone will look at you and say 'welcome home'. Why, thank you...
Wednesday, June 30, 2010
meet the mets, meet the mets, step right up and greet the mets
When I was five years old I had a crush on a Met named Gary Carter. I can't remember why or how a little girl could become interested in a sports star - nonetheless a baseball player considering how damn slow the game is...but I did. Which may explain how I got to the point now where I consider myself a METS FAN. (yes in capitals and amongst other things, ha)
My Dad's claim to fame. Or rather, the claim to fame we hold my father accountable for is a homerun he hit out of Shea Stadium in '81 during the baseball strike when he was asked to go to spring training for the Mets. My Dad being my Dad lied about his age and figured he wouldn't get very far anyway and declined. He never really talks about it and he doesn't act like he regrets his decision but I can tell you he refused to go to Shea Stadium with M and I when we wanted to go to games.
I love everything about a ballpark. Every. Single. Thing. The smells, the sounds and the anticipation make me turn into a giddy kid.
I don't know when I became so passionate about the Mets. In the past few years since I moved from the south, I definitely enjoyed watching with my Dad and my brother but it was only an occasional thing. My brother would yell at me and tell me I wasn't a real fan because I wouldn't stop my life when a game was on like he would. Their lives revolve(d) around NY sports teams and I was just a casual bystander. You know how people were born into their political views? I was born into a NY sports team family.
My favorite memory so far this year is our first trip up to Citi Field. We were watching the game at field level and we were down by three runs when a player hit a three-run homerun to tie the game. The entire stadium erupted and we jumped up and down like we won the lottery and high fived every stranger and launched into each others arms. I won't forget that day as long as I live. And we didn't cry once because M wasn't there.
Maybe it's because my brother died this year that I've become the fan that he was. Maybe it's a way to bond with my Dad that I was never really able to be apart of. Maybe it's just that I really like baseball. I don't know. All I know is that this year I am catching more games than I ever have. There is nothing more exciting to me than hanging out and watching the game and yelling at the TV. I mean I wear dresses every day and hate ponytails and love handbags and I am twittering entire Mets games like ANYONE else cares. If I can't watch the game - I'm checking the score on my phone. I'm that hot girl you can have a conversation about sports with! It's exciting to realize a new dimension of myself no matter how unimportant.
I love that my team is nicknamed the Amazin's and their motto is 'You Gotta Believe' and that we hate the Phillies so bad it hurts. I love that all the players have so much passion and that they haven't won the World Series a hundred times and we have rookies who can turn a season around and can make an entire fan base feel the same excitement they feel.
Maybe the whole point about me loving baseball is because a whole season's worth of hard work can change in an instant. It's not like a TV show where you can guess the next scene. One minute your team can be number one and the next minute your team can all be injured and your season is down the drain. It's exactly like life except there are cute butts involved. And life is messy and I'd rather my entertainment not try to make me believe otherwise with really convincing dramas and romances and comedies that just make life pale in comparison anyhow.
My Dad says he wants a sign that my brother got to heaven ok. I am pretty convinced M's sign is going to be the Mets getting to the World Series after a slew of terrible years. I'm pretty convinced that M has a spot behind home plate for every game. Bastard.
My Dad's claim to fame. Or rather, the claim to fame we hold my father accountable for is a homerun he hit out of Shea Stadium in '81 during the baseball strike when he was asked to go to spring training for the Mets. My Dad being my Dad lied about his age and figured he wouldn't get very far anyway and declined. He never really talks about it and he doesn't act like he regrets his decision but I can tell you he refused to go to Shea Stadium with M and I when we wanted to go to games.
I love everything about a ballpark. Every. Single. Thing. The smells, the sounds and the anticipation make me turn into a giddy kid.
I don't know when I became so passionate about the Mets. In the past few years since I moved from the south, I definitely enjoyed watching with my Dad and my brother but it was only an occasional thing. My brother would yell at me and tell me I wasn't a real fan because I wouldn't stop my life when a game was on like he would. Their lives revolve(d) around NY sports teams and I was just a casual bystander. You know how people were born into their political views? I was born into a NY sports team family.
My favorite memory so far this year is our first trip up to Citi Field. We were watching the game at field level and we were down by three runs when a player hit a three-run homerun to tie the game. The entire stadium erupted and we jumped up and down like we won the lottery and high fived every stranger and launched into each others arms. I won't forget that day as long as I live. And we didn't cry once because M wasn't there.
Maybe it's because my brother died this year that I've become the fan that he was. Maybe it's a way to bond with my Dad that I was never really able to be apart of. Maybe it's just that I really like baseball. I don't know. All I know is that this year I am catching more games than I ever have. There is nothing more exciting to me than hanging out and watching the game and yelling at the TV. I mean I wear dresses every day and hate ponytails and love handbags and I am twittering entire Mets games like ANYONE else cares. If I can't watch the game - I'm checking the score on my phone. I'm that hot girl you can have a conversation about sports with! It's exciting to realize a new dimension of myself no matter how unimportant.
I love that my team is nicknamed the Amazin's and their motto is 'You Gotta Believe' and that we hate the Phillies so bad it hurts. I love that all the players have so much passion and that they haven't won the World Series a hundred times and we have rookies who can turn a season around and can make an entire fan base feel the same excitement they feel.
Maybe the whole point about me loving baseball is because a whole season's worth of hard work can change in an instant. It's not like a TV show where you can guess the next scene. One minute your team can be number one and the next minute your team can all be injured and your season is down the drain. It's exactly like life except there are cute butts involved. And life is messy and I'd rather my entertainment not try to make me believe otherwise with really convincing dramas and romances and comedies that just make life pale in comparison anyhow.
My Dad says he wants a sign that my brother got to heaven ok. I am pretty convinced M's sign is going to be the Mets getting to the World Series after a slew of terrible years. I'm pretty convinced that M has a spot behind home plate for every game. Bastard.
Tuesday, June 8, 2010
you don't look a day over fast cars and freedom
This past weekend my friends and I went to an annual country music festival. I will make this clear before they flood me with comments - I WAS THE ONE DYING TO GO. I was whining and chomping at the bit and making grandiose expectations in my head about rolling around in the bed of a pickup. Whatever. That's not the point.
My friends are always up for a fun day drinking some beer and wandering around parking lots so we went.
And there was puke.
And filth.
And violation of personal space.
And penises. (TONS OF THEM. I DON'T KNOW WHY THEY DON'T KEEP THEM TO THEMSELVES.)
The point is, midway through this fiasco my friend S turns to me and says:
"Rachie, I think we're just too old for this shit."
And she was right. We were too old to be amused by dudes puking on themselves and chicks galavanting around wearing more clothes than a newborn child. No I don't want any of your moonshine - you're 14!
I really thought I was going to be able to relax, meet some new people and listen to some good tunes. This is generally what happens when my friends and I are together anyway - I just thought it would be delightful to do it amongst those who like the same terrible music that I do. And I wanted to be transported back to high school for a few hours. Yeah, I said it.
BUT INSTEAD we were irritated and I wound up in (my own) bed at midnight texting all my younger friends and telling them I was available if they needed rides home from wherever they were. Like a Grandma.
I have to defend myself here because I know I usually am cracking on being 25 and how old and lame it is but in this case I really just outgrew the entire situation. Like I outgrew watching Angels in the Outfield twice a day.
It's just one more thing I can cross off my list of Things Not To Do Anymore Because I'm Too Old! Maybe I can add knitting to my repertoire instead????
My friends are always up for a fun day drinking some beer and wandering around parking lots so we went.
And there was puke.
And filth.
And violation of personal space.
And penises. (TONS OF THEM. I DON'T KNOW WHY THEY DON'T KEEP THEM TO THEMSELVES.)
The point is, midway through this fiasco my friend S turns to me and says:
"Rachie, I think we're just too old for this shit."
And she was right. We were too old to be amused by dudes puking on themselves and chicks galavanting around wearing more clothes than a newborn child. No I don't want any of your moonshine - you're 14!
I really thought I was going to be able to relax, meet some new people and listen to some good tunes. This is generally what happens when my friends and I are together anyway - I just thought it would be delightful to do it amongst those who like the same terrible music that I do. And I wanted to be transported back to high school for a few hours. Yeah, I said it.
BUT INSTEAD we were irritated and I wound up in (my own) bed at midnight texting all my younger friends and telling them I was available if they needed rides home from wherever they were. Like a Grandma.
I have to defend myself here because I know I usually am cracking on being 25 and how old and lame it is but in this case I really just outgrew the entire situation. Like I outgrew watching Angels in the Outfield twice a day.
It's just one more thing I can cross off my list of Things Not To Do Anymore Because I'm Too Old! Maybe I can add knitting to my repertoire instead????
Friday, May 21, 2010
Dear M,
It's very hard for me to comprehend that you are dead. You are not just "not here" you are really gone from this earth. You are not existing somewhere doing something. You are dead.
It feels so surreal when I allow myself to really think about it. One second you were my brother and the next second you are nothing. I don't know how to explain it eloquently. You were the largest extension of me. My facial expressions and sense of humor and lack of convention. It's like I lost a big mirror and I don't know where to look to see myself clearly.
People who meet me in the future will not know you. You will not have a future. You will never get to have kids or fall in love or buy your first house.
Who is going to dance with me at weddings? Buy me the perfect present? Tell me which dress to wear?
And I have no one who cares what I think anymore. Who trusted me to do those things with/for them and to always give them an honest answer.
I am alone in a way no one can comprehend. Friends can always leave. Parents have each other. You were supposed to always be here. We were supposed to keep each other safe from the opposite team and always fight for fun together.
You were the life to my party.
Love,
Your Rachies
It's very hard for me to comprehend that you are dead. You are not just "not here" you are really gone from this earth. You are not existing somewhere doing something. You are dead.
It feels so surreal when I allow myself to really think about it. One second you were my brother and the next second you are nothing. I don't know how to explain it eloquently. You were the largest extension of me. My facial expressions and sense of humor and lack of convention. It's like I lost a big mirror and I don't know where to look to see myself clearly.
People who meet me in the future will not know you. You will not have a future. You will never get to have kids or fall in love or buy your first house.
Who is going to dance with me at weddings? Buy me the perfect present? Tell me which dress to wear?
And I have no one who cares what I think anymore. Who trusted me to do those things with/for them and to always give them an honest answer.
I am alone in a way no one can comprehend. Friends can always leave. Parents have each other. You were supposed to always be here. We were supposed to keep each other safe from the opposite team and always fight for fun together.
You were the life to my party.
Love,
Your Rachies
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
geography 101
I do not know how I got through school/life not knowing the things I don't know. Like, honestly. I graduated with honors in high school and cum laude in college and yet CANNOT TELL YOU ON WHAT CONTINENT EGYPT LIES.
I do not believe I have ever, not once, taken a geography class. I blame the south on their poor educational system and also my charm and ability to dodge responsibility.
I am going on a trip to the Middle East in a little over a month and I am pretty stoked. Mostly, I am excited to sweatily blog about it and share with you whatever self awakening and inspiration finds me. I am going to go in search of nothing and no one and with no expectations. Hopefully this means I'll come home with something and someone and completely renewed. Which defeats the whole purpose of no expectations anyway. But I never learned how not to have expectations! Damn you Guilford County Schools!
All joking aside, I never planned to do this trip nor have I ever had any interest in traveling anywhere that didn't have a five-star hotel and a rocking shopping area. But I surprised myself one morning and woke up knowing I had to go on this trip. I don't have any answers as to why other than I felt compelled to do things outside my comfort zone that might even cause me some anxiety. What's the worse that can happen? I die? And since my little brother already did that I'm pretty sure God doesn't suck that bad.
I bought my first pair of shorts in probably ten years today in preparation of my departure. I am even debating purchasing those little cotton numbers in a million colors that we wore in high school and rolled down super short to look like hussies.
But THIS time since I am going to be in a possible sensitive area of the world, I won't roll em' down like a slut. Just in case you were wondering.
I digress. I hope to find that there are other pieces of me in the world. I've been out of the country countless times but only in search of a good vacation instead of a meaningful journey. I hope this means my eyes and my heart can stay open with only the intent of knowledge and insight. And hopefully in finding other pieces of me in the world, I can heal the pieces of me that have been with me always.
I do not believe I have ever, not once, taken a geography class. I blame the south on their poor educational system and also my charm and ability to dodge responsibility.
I am going on a trip to the Middle East in a little over a month and I am pretty stoked. Mostly, I am excited to sweatily blog about it and share with you whatever self awakening and inspiration finds me. I am going to go in search of nothing and no one and with no expectations. Hopefully this means I'll come home with something and someone and completely renewed. Which defeats the whole purpose of no expectations anyway. But I never learned how not to have expectations! Damn you Guilford County Schools!
All joking aside, I never planned to do this trip nor have I ever had any interest in traveling anywhere that didn't have a five-star hotel and a rocking shopping area. But I surprised myself one morning and woke up knowing I had to go on this trip. I don't have any answers as to why other than I felt compelled to do things outside my comfort zone that might even cause me some anxiety. What's the worse that can happen? I die? And since my little brother already did that I'm pretty sure God doesn't suck that bad.
I bought my first pair of shorts in probably ten years today in preparation of my departure. I am even debating purchasing those little cotton numbers in a million colors that we wore in high school and rolled down super short to look like hussies.
But THIS time since I am going to be in a possible sensitive area of the world, I won't roll em' down like a slut. Just in case you were wondering.
I digress. I hope to find that there are other pieces of me in the world. I've been out of the country countless times but only in search of a good vacation instead of a meaningful journey. I hope this means my eyes and my heart can stay open with only the intent of knowledge and insight. And hopefully in finding other pieces of me in the world, I can heal the pieces of me that have been with me always.
Sunday, May 2, 2010
exploding ovaries
Oprah said something cool the other day on one of her shows (I don't make it a habit to watch Oprah or anything but whatever, don't judge me.)
She said something along the lines of:
"People spend so much time trying to live the life they planned for instead of the life they actually have."
First thought: Easy for you to say, bitch.
And secondly, I thought about how true that statement was for myself especially.
I want to get married and have kids and take the dog jogging with me every morning. Presently, this is not the life I am living. I am not in a serious relationship, my ovaries probably exploded and I'd kill a dog because I work 8 hour days. So tell me, Oprah, do I just work really hard at a career and forget that these are the things I want? Do I plan a life around what I have because the things I want are not my *present*? Clue me in because I understand but can't comprehend how living the life you have gets you what you want.
At 25 I am in the middle of absolutely EVERYTHING. I am sort of a kid but sort of an adult. I'm not thaaaaat old but I'm still not thaaaaat young. When can "living the life you have" become "whoops, you didn't try hard enough!"
So many fine lines. So many cliches. I don't know which one to pick. I just know Oprah is a bazillionaire and I ate crackers for dinner.
She said something along the lines of:
"People spend so much time trying to live the life they planned for instead of the life they actually have."
First thought: Easy for you to say, bitch.
And secondly, I thought about how true that statement was for myself especially.
I want to get married and have kids and take the dog jogging with me every morning. Presently, this is not the life I am living. I am not in a serious relationship, my ovaries probably exploded and I'd kill a dog because I work 8 hour days. So tell me, Oprah, do I just work really hard at a career and forget that these are the things I want? Do I plan a life around what I have because the things I want are not my *present*? Clue me in because I understand but can't comprehend how living the life you have gets you what you want.
At 25 I am in the middle of absolutely EVERYTHING. I am sort of a kid but sort of an adult. I'm not thaaaaat old but I'm still not thaaaaat young. When can "living the life you have" become "whoops, you didn't try hard enough!"
So many fine lines. So many cliches. I don't know which one to pick. I just know Oprah is a bazillionaire and I ate crackers for dinner.
Sunday, April 25, 2010
Tuesday, April 20, 2010
So, unfortunately, my feet suck.
Tis the season for the awesome sandals I seem to to not be bashful about owning (even if they crawl halfway up my thigh muahaha) and hot open toe-heels and I'm suddenly paralyzed to wear them because my feet *seem* to look like something out of a horror film. I just bought these beautiful sandals and due to the nature of my hooves I pause in displaying them to the world.
After 25 years of shoving them into shoes that were way too narrow for me, my toes have finally rebelled and given me the finger. My mother pointed out to me that my baby toe is now...CONE SHAPED. I repeat. I have a CONE SHAPED TOE. My feet are apparently so wide that they have been smooshed mercilessly into shoes not made for people with 67" wide feet and I am now paying the price with a deformed toe.
I have always thought that shoes were supposed to hurt but apparently I was wrong. My Flintstonesque feet have revolted and finally brought to light my need for orthotics or perhaps specially handcrafted blocks of wood that will satiate the width of my hooves.
Just so I make this post positive: I have a really great smile.
Tis the season for the awesome sandals I seem to to not be bashful about owning (even if they crawl halfway up my thigh muahaha) and hot open toe-heels and I'm suddenly paralyzed to wear them because my feet *seem* to look like something out of a horror film. I just bought these beautiful sandals and due to the nature of my hooves I pause in displaying them to the world.
After 25 years of shoving them into shoes that were way too narrow for me, my toes have finally rebelled and given me the finger. My mother pointed out to me that my baby toe is now...CONE SHAPED. I repeat. I have a CONE SHAPED TOE. My feet are apparently so wide that they have been smooshed mercilessly into shoes not made for people with 67" wide feet and I am now paying the price with a deformed toe.
I have always thought that shoes were supposed to hurt but apparently I was wrong. My Flintstonesque feet have revolted and finally brought to light my need for orthotics or perhaps specially handcrafted blocks of wood that will satiate the width of my hooves.
Just so I make this post positive: I have a really great smile.
Friday, April 16, 2010
the devil's advocate
I'll randomly flip through channels on the television and sometimes will find like dating shows or shows aiming to help people with happiness.
The first thing these shows recommend to do EVERY TIME is to lose weight. Sometimes they'll say it nicely like "get outside and take your dog for a walk!!!" or other times they'll blatantly start visually assaulting the screen with aerobic moves.
Like what?
Since when can't fat people be happy and in good relationships? And why does "fat" connotate such negative feelings and images that we have shows devoted to making sure you unfat yourself? Sure, we're promoting good health and all that jazz. News flash: my fat uncle has lived 15 years longer than my exercise-loving grandpa... surprise!
With that said, the people on these shows are generally not fat either! And if they were? Why not find them another fat person to hang with instead of immediately urging them to go to the gym?
Why should any of us change ourselves to date and *improve happiness*? Losing the pounds won't instantly score you a hot chick and it certainly won't make you so zen that you'll smile at your Starbucks barista when they fuck up your cappuccino...so what gives?
Here's the problem with the "lose weight for happiness" concept. Most of us on le chunky side will buy into it. We'll get thin from denying ourselves our hobbies and carbs in place of Jogging and Vegetables. Yes, we'll lose some weight. We might even find a significant other! This significant other will probably love Jogging and Vegetables also because we either met them at The Jogging and Vegetables Club (since we've focused on nothing else) or online where we have advertised ourself as Someone Who Loves Jogging and Vegetables. We'll become happy in our relationship and slowly start doing things we really love again (but didn't have time for before because we were too busy losing weight and finding a bf/gf) and Jogging and Vegetables will take a backseat. Suddenly we're fluffy again and find we have nothing in common with our beau or we're too fat for them. Whatever the case may be - it was all a lie anyway.
Lose weight if you feel like it. Don't do it because you feel at the end of it all you're owed something or there's a prize waiting for you.
I'm sure some people find nirvana and happy mediums and positive energy in the scale. Mazel tov to you - I'm going to go find my boyfriend at the supermarket... probably in the bakery section.
The first thing these shows recommend to do EVERY TIME is to lose weight. Sometimes they'll say it nicely like "get outside and take your dog for a walk!!!" or other times they'll blatantly start visually assaulting the screen with aerobic moves.
Like what?
Since when can't fat people be happy and in good relationships? And why does "fat" connotate such negative feelings and images that we have shows devoted to making sure you unfat yourself? Sure, we're promoting good health and all that jazz. News flash: my fat uncle has lived 15 years longer than my exercise-loving grandpa... surprise!
With that said, the people on these shows are generally not fat either! And if they were? Why not find them another fat person to hang with instead of immediately urging them to go to the gym?
Why should any of us change ourselves to date and *improve happiness*? Losing the pounds won't instantly score you a hot chick and it certainly won't make you so zen that you'll smile at your Starbucks barista when they fuck up your cappuccino...so what gives?
Here's the problem with the "lose weight for happiness" concept. Most of us on le chunky side will buy into it. We'll get thin from denying ourselves our hobbies and carbs in place of Jogging and Vegetables. Yes, we'll lose some weight. We might even find a significant other! This significant other will probably love Jogging and Vegetables also because we either met them at The Jogging and Vegetables Club (since we've focused on nothing else) or online where we have advertised ourself as Someone Who Loves Jogging and Vegetables. We'll become happy in our relationship and slowly start doing things we really love again (but didn't have time for before because we were too busy losing weight and finding a bf/gf) and Jogging and Vegetables will take a backseat. Suddenly we're fluffy again and find we have nothing in common with our beau or we're too fat for them. Whatever the case may be - it was all a lie anyway.
Lose weight if you feel like it. Don't do it because you feel at the end of it all you're owed something or there's a prize waiting for you.
I'm sure some people find nirvana and happy mediums and positive energy in the scale. Mazel tov to you - I'm going to go find my boyfriend at the supermarket... probably in the bakery section.
Saturday, April 10, 2010
today was a fairytale (you got a smile that takes me to another planet)
A male acquaintance asked me the other day if I'd been writing. He didn't necessarily mean my blog but also my surely terrible Great American Novel that I've been working on for five years or random freelance articles. When I replied "no" he looked at me perplexed and said "So you aren't inspired?"
...........
Why yes, I've been inspired to jump off local bridges or even eat an entire tub of Tollhouse Cookie Dough. And oh yes! I have been writing! My brother's goddamn eulogy!
I really am not mad that those questions were asked - it just got me thinking about how no one can ever know your life experience. Some people really really really get to live happy, pain-free and oblivious lives forever and always. They know nothing above worrying if they'll be able to go on vacation this year. And they look at your pain and experience it from as far away as possible because they've never had to look at any of those things up close and would rather not. And they're able to walk away from it never ever thinking that it could happen to them.
Life turns so quickly and everyone thinks they are immune to it. We always hear songs and see movies about it but think it's a myth. Why don't we believe that slogan but can believe all the ones about prince charming sweeping us off our feet?
What about the happy couple whose child is born with autism? What about the rich teenager who wraps his brand new car around a pole and winds up paralyzed? What about the dead college kid with alcohol poisoning? What about the father who dies in Iraq or the mother who goes to tuck her kid into bed and he's missing?
Tragedy is not always a disease and knows no bounds. It does not just target the poor, sad, overweight, or unattractive.
You know the news channel you refuse to watch anymore because 'it's too depressing'? Well guess what? It's all real. Those things are really happening to someone somewhere.
I do not wish bad things for anyone ever. I hope you are never directly involved in your own personal hell.
All I wish is for understanding that life is not about the surface bullshit many seem to think it is. That maybe instead of spending 3 hours shopping for the perfect spring handbag - spend it helping a friend who may be down on their luck. Perhaps tell the people in your life that you love them a little more. If you are one of the lucky ones who haven't been touched by bad luck - get this - you won't catch it!
It isn't herpes. Just sayin'.
...........
Why yes, I've been inspired to jump off local bridges or even eat an entire tub of Tollhouse Cookie Dough. And oh yes! I have been writing! My brother's goddamn eulogy!
I really am not mad that those questions were asked - it just got me thinking about how no one can ever know your life experience. Some people really really really get to live happy, pain-free and oblivious lives forever and always. They know nothing above worrying if they'll be able to go on vacation this year. And they look at your pain and experience it from as far away as possible because they've never had to look at any of those things up close and would rather not. And they're able to walk away from it never ever thinking that it could happen to them.
Life turns so quickly and everyone thinks they are immune to it. We always hear songs and see movies about it but think it's a myth. Why don't we believe that slogan but can believe all the ones about prince charming sweeping us off our feet?
What about the happy couple whose child is born with autism? What about the rich teenager who wraps his brand new car around a pole and winds up paralyzed? What about the dead college kid with alcohol poisoning? What about the father who dies in Iraq or the mother who goes to tuck her kid into bed and he's missing?
Tragedy is not always a disease and knows no bounds. It does not just target the poor, sad, overweight, or unattractive.
You know the news channel you refuse to watch anymore because 'it's too depressing'? Well guess what? It's all real. Those things are really happening to someone somewhere.
I do not wish bad things for anyone ever. I hope you are never directly involved in your own personal hell.
All I wish is for understanding that life is not about the surface bullshit many seem to think it is. That maybe instead of spending 3 hours shopping for the perfect spring handbag - spend it helping a friend who may be down on their luck. Perhaps tell the people in your life that you love them a little more. If you are one of the lucky ones who haven't been touched by bad luck - get this - you won't catch it!
It isn't herpes. Just sayin'.
Saturday, April 3, 2010
cowgirls don't cry
Sometimes bloggers plan out what they are going to write first and then edit and reedit and then think of more witty, profound things to say once they've slept on it. I'm not one of those bloggers so I apologize.
My little brother passed away last week of cancer. The sadness is deeper than any surface pain or heartbreak. It's the kind of sadness that rattles your bones and lives in your eyes. I don't recognize myself when I look in the mirror right now. Maybe it's because I haven't put much makeup on in weeks but I know that's not the case.
My parents sheer devastation and confusion is tangible. From their tears down to the sweatpants I haven't seen on my father since '89. It is almost as if I have lost my brother and my parents all at once.
I am the strong one. For whatever reason I never thought I'd be the one to be able to hold back tears or put on a happy face. I mean, I'm the girl who cries at Armageddon every. single. time. But somehow I am able to hold it together and fall apart on my own. I much prefer it that way. Vulnerability never really suited me.
The outpouring of support and love my brother, myself and my family have received is monumental. You forget good things and good people exist when a disease eats away at your family.
I'm sure I'll be talking about this for a long time to come but hopefully it will be filled with undercurrents of positivity. The show must go on.
My little brother passed away last week of cancer. The sadness is deeper than any surface pain or heartbreak. It's the kind of sadness that rattles your bones and lives in your eyes. I don't recognize myself when I look in the mirror right now. Maybe it's because I haven't put much makeup on in weeks but I know that's not the case.
My parents sheer devastation and confusion is tangible. From their tears down to the sweatpants I haven't seen on my father since '89. It is almost as if I have lost my brother and my parents all at once.
I am the strong one. For whatever reason I never thought I'd be the one to be able to hold back tears or put on a happy face. I mean, I'm the girl who cries at Armageddon every. single. time. But somehow I am able to hold it together and fall apart on my own. I much prefer it that way. Vulnerability never really suited me.
The outpouring of support and love my brother, myself and my family have received is monumental. You forget good things and good people exist when a disease eats away at your family.
I'm sure I'll be talking about this for a long time to come but hopefully it will be filled with undercurrents of positivity. The show must go on.
Thursday, March 11, 2010
lay me down to sleep
My brother is sick. Really sick. The kind you don't joke about anymore because there is no laughter left in your home.
I used to be quite emotional about the situation and would cry at the drop of a dime. I also used to be optimistic and hopeful if we're using descriptors as our gauge. It is not that I have lost any of those emotions - it's just that I have to be realistic. Because no one else will. Because at the end of this I can't be devastated into submission like I have numerous other occasions when I've been blissfully hopeful that things would work out. No no no. Not this time. It is likely my brother will die. And very soon.
You can look at me in horror and judge me all you want. I will not pretend any longer that there is a positive outlook here. If I'm proven wrong then all the better. I'm sure champagne will fall from the heavens and unicorns will frolic through rainbows and all that jazz. Dazzle me. Make me look like an idiot. Please.
I'm trying to find out the answers to those questions I shouldn't ask - what song do you want played at your funeral? Do you want to be buried or cremated? What kind of tattoo do you want me to get in remembrance of you? (He said he wants me to get the WWE symbol and I told him to fuck off.)
I do not ask him these things to be cruel, but instead to spark some sort of reaction in him. A big part of his illness momentarily is inaction on his part and I feel that by making his death seem real and imminent then it might force his hand. What do I know? If it doesn't I at least know that if I mention his foot fetish in my eulogy he'll strike me down with a lightening bolt from heaven.
I used to be quite emotional about the situation and would cry at the drop of a dime. I also used to be optimistic and hopeful if we're using descriptors as our gauge. It is not that I have lost any of those emotions - it's just that I have to be realistic. Because no one else will. Because at the end of this I can't be devastated into submission like I have numerous other occasions when I've been blissfully hopeful that things would work out. No no no. Not this time. It is likely my brother will die. And very soon.
You can look at me in horror and judge me all you want. I will not pretend any longer that there is a positive outlook here. If I'm proven wrong then all the better. I'm sure champagne will fall from the heavens and unicorns will frolic through rainbows and all that jazz. Dazzle me. Make me look like an idiot. Please.
I'm trying to find out the answers to those questions I shouldn't ask - what song do you want played at your funeral? Do you want to be buried or cremated? What kind of tattoo do you want me to get in remembrance of you? (He said he wants me to get the WWE symbol and I told him to fuck off.)
I do not ask him these things to be cruel, but instead to spark some sort of reaction in him. A big part of his illness momentarily is inaction on his part and I feel that by making his death seem real and imminent then it might force his hand. What do I know? If it doesn't I at least know that if I mention his foot fetish in my eulogy he'll strike me down with a lightening bolt from heaven.
Thursday, March 4, 2010
a story to tell your kids
It's funny how the smallest things can change your entire day and you can stumble upon something you'll remember the rest of your life so spontaneously.
Today I was grumbling around Wawa putting together my coffee and generally probably thinking about how my hair was staticky or like how I wish I had put on hand lotion that morning when I felt someone staring at me. I ignored the feeling and continued putting in my creamer when I looked up and smiled at the person who I felt needed some attention and it turned out to be a teenage worker who had Down Syndrome. He looks me in the eye and says to me confidently:
"Hi. You look beautiful today."
I thanked him and walked away with a swelling heart and a smile that would last most of the day.
It was one of those things that happened at the exact moment when I needed to come back to earth and stop wallowing in my own crap. Others have it worse than us and there are people in the world like that sweet boy who can bring us down from the clouds and set us straight. Words almost fail me on how to explain the depth this kid touched me with a few simple words and the kind of confidence that trumps any loser frat boy who comes up to me on a Friday night.
I am not a religious person by any means but I feel like this situation was such a smack to the back of the head. Like, let's move on and forget about all the current and past bullshit that can fog up the important things.
After I left Wawa I wound up noticing and laughing at everything - like a Boxer sitting in the driver's seat of a car looking like he was going for a spin and a cute little boy running away from his Mom at Costco. No, I'm not going to be Mary fucking Poppins but I can at least try and notice these things a little more to remember it's not all bad.
There's a lot of good out there too if you look... or if you run into sweet boys at the convenience store.
Today I was grumbling around Wawa putting together my coffee and generally probably thinking about how my hair was staticky or like how I wish I had put on hand lotion that morning when I felt someone staring at me. I ignored the feeling and continued putting in my creamer when I looked up and smiled at the person who I felt needed some attention and it turned out to be a teenage worker who had Down Syndrome. He looks me in the eye and says to me confidently:
"Hi. You look beautiful today."
I thanked him and walked away with a swelling heart and a smile that would last most of the day.
It was one of those things that happened at the exact moment when I needed to come back to earth and stop wallowing in my own crap. Others have it worse than us and there are people in the world like that sweet boy who can bring us down from the clouds and set us straight. Words almost fail me on how to explain the depth this kid touched me with a few simple words and the kind of confidence that trumps any loser frat boy who comes up to me on a Friday night.
I am not a religious person by any means but I feel like this situation was such a smack to the back of the head. Like, let's move on and forget about all the current and past bullshit that can fog up the important things.
After I left Wawa I wound up noticing and laughing at everything - like a Boxer sitting in the driver's seat of a car looking like he was going for a spin and a cute little boy running away from his Mom at Costco. No, I'm not going to be Mary fucking Poppins but I can at least try and notice these things a little more to remember it's not all bad.
There's a lot of good out there too if you look... or if you run into sweet boys at the convenience store.
Monday, March 1, 2010
bring back write-y
I don't remember when I stopped writing in longhand. I remember swearing I would always write things out with a pen so that they felt realer somehow. So that I could watch my handwriting become as frantic or controlled as my mood allowed. If I saw it in ink then it was permanent instead of something I could backspace on a computer and delete forever. Whatever that feeling was, it was important enough for me to grab a notebook. That I was important enough to be heard even if I was the only one listening. This specific notebook that I am transcribing from has vampire teeth on the cover. How fitting.
Do you remember when we were younger (for me it was 10-17) and our creativity and emotions were so fierce and insistent that there was no way to ignore them and the only way to set yourself free of them was by crying or writing or painting or fighting? There were not enough words in the English language for me to even remotely convey my feelings. I had to LITERALLY read the thesaurus much to the thrill of my high school English teachers just so I could bring justice to the shit swirling around my head. So I could even tell myself how I felt because hell if I knew until I looked down at a piece of paper and saw an entire poem I had scrawled.
Somehow as the years have gone by that urgency has waned. That intense obligation to write down all I feel is still there somewhere but it does not come out to play often. Usually it just gets bottled up and displayed inappropriately towards like the Wawa guy or a slow car in front of me on the freeway. Those moments where I stared blankly at chalkboards and teacher's faces because a story line was developing and begging to be written is no longer present. I used to legitimately have to yell at myself to stay focused and stop writing character outlines in my head - instead I cry at Dove commercials.
Where does that go? How do I get that again? Who can I bargain with to take back that annoying pull in my fingers to write! To create! To purge!
I remember thinking how annoying being a writer was. It was such a boring thing to be when all my friends got to be pretty or sporty or slutty. I got to be write-y. That went over real well with the boys.
I thought it was a waste to be write-y and for years I didn't even consider it an option. I just thought everyone did it. Didn't all 11 year olds write epic poems and elaborate stories?
No dumbass, they didn't.
And probably right around the time I admitted to myself and embraced my write-y-ness it somehow decided to fade away and I was replaced with other ordinary adjectives that I didn't want anymore. Somehow the older I got the more boring the adjectives got. Who would have thought your hidden teenage adjective would be the one you would try to get back in your adult life?
Bring back the write-y. She's sexy now. I promise!
Do you remember when we were younger (for me it was 10-17) and our creativity and emotions were so fierce and insistent that there was no way to ignore them and the only way to set yourself free of them was by crying or writing or painting or fighting? There were not enough words in the English language for me to even remotely convey my feelings. I had to LITERALLY read the thesaurus much to the thrill of my high school English teachers just so I could bring justice to the shit swirling around my head. So I could even tell myself how I felt because hell if I knew until I looked down at a piece of paper and saw an entire poem I had scrawled.
Somehow as the years have gone by that urgency has waned. That intense obligation to write down all I feel is still there somewhere but it does not come out to play often. Usually it just gets bottled up and displayed inappropriately towards like the Wawa guy or a slow car in front of me on the freeway. Those moments where I stared blankly at chalkboards and teacher's faces because a story line was developing and begging to be written is no longer present. I used to legitimately have to yell at myself to stay focused and stop writing character outlines in my head - instead I cry at Dove commercials.
Where does that go? How do I get that again? Who can I bargain with to take back that annoying pull in my fingers to write! To create! To purge!
I remember thinking how annoying being a writer was. It was such a boring thing to be when all my friends got to be pretty or sporty or slutty. I got to be write-y. That went over real well with the boys.
I thought it was a waste to be write-y and for years I didn't even consider it an option. I just thought everyone did it. Didn't all 11 year olds write epic poems and elaborate stories?
No dumbass, they didn't.
And probably right around the time I admitted to myself and embraced my write-y-ness it somehow decided to fade away and I was replaced with other ordinary adjectives that I didn't want anymore. Somehow the older I got the more boring the adjectives got. Who would have thought your hidden teenage adjective would be the one you would try to get back in your adult life?
Bring back the write-y. She's sexy now. I promise!
Thursday, February 25, 2010
he was a s8er boi
So yeah, I've been 25 for a few days now. It was a whirlwind weekend with some of the best people I will ever know. Thank you for those of you who made an effort to make me feel loved. Because of you I didn't think about throwing myself off a bridge even once. Instead I drank heavily, cuddled and reminisced. Much better option and probably less messy.
I had to go to the godforsaken phone store for my THIRD phone in two weeks. Since when is it ok to sell phones that are defective over and over again? I'm a pretty calm girl (contrary to the rantings of my blog ha) and when the man behind the counter started with "the phone's price went up" I didn't even let him finish before a huge "I DON'T CARE" came belching out of my mouth. I believe the look in my eye told him I was not the white girl to mess with tonight. Do you possibly hit a certain age where you lose a little bit of your filter and become positively impatient with everything? Maybe it's just that I don't have the patience for slow moving ineptitude. Like if you're going to be inept then please do it faster. Please? I don't know how I lived in the south for as long as I did -maybe that's where I learned to drive like a maniac?
I thought I should note that I listed to an Avril Lavigne song last night and instead of switching the channel....I TURNED THAT SHIT UP. /lame
I had to go to the godforsaken phone store for my THIRD phone in two weeks. Since when is it ok to sell phones that are defective over and over again? I'm a pretty calm girl (contrary to the rantings of my blog ha) and when the man behind the counter started with "the phone's price went up" I didn't even let him finish before a huge "I DON'T CARE" came belching out of my mouth. I believe the look in my eye told him I was not the white girl to mess with tonight. Do you possibly hit a certain age where you lose a little bit of your filter and become positively impatient with everything? Maybe it's just that I don't have the patience for slow moving ineptitude. Like if you're going to be inept then please do it faster. Please? I don't know how I lived in the south for as long as I did -maybe that's where I learned to drive like a maniac?
I thought I should note that I listed to an Avril Lavigne song last night and instead of switching the channel....I TURNED THAT SHIT UP. /lame
Friday, February 19, 2010
we were trying to find a place in the sun
So in the last hour of my 24ness I have done something totally out of character and decided to watch myself on a DVD, listen to an album that completely entangled my entire childhood in a web of a golden secret and spit me out into this adult who mourns the girl on the television. She knew what she wanted and went out and got it - even if it was just a silly band and a silly dream. She really believed in the words and she believed in the relationships that cultivated out of it all. The bottom line was that there was something to believe in that made the next day worth living because there was always a new show or album. And it sufficed for all those years. It shaped everything about me and in this next stage of life I have had to relearn all of my coping mechanisms, how to deal with people and what to expect in a day. This sounds silly to most people because they didn't live in the specific subculture I did. I don't expect you to understand.
Whatever the reason was that I watched that DVD and went back to that place - it made me realize that I have relearned all those things. Finally. Granted, I still will randomly panic when someone posts about tour dates because I forget I don't have to buy them. It's funny actually. But all in all I have become an actual human who lives in reality. With the rest of you. And I think for a long time I was a little bit mad at myself for giving that girl up because she really was fun. And it's been a couple of years since I've really been that girl and it's been long enough where I can honestly say I'm ready to let go of that reckless, beautiful time and start a whole new time. I don't have to forget her. She can come with me.
It's time now to find something in the real world to be passionate about and to give my all to. Something I can quantify. I'm ready. Bring it on. Congratulations, you're 25. Shit.
Whatever the reason was that I watched that DVD and went back to that place - it made me realize that I have relearned all those things. Finally. Granted, I still will randomly panic when someone posts about tour dates because I forget I don't have to buy them. It's funny actually. But all in all I have become an actual human who lives in reality. With the rest of you. And I think for a long time I was a little bit mad at myself for giving that girl up because she really was fun. And it's been a couple of years since I've really been that girl and it's been long enough where I can honestly say I'm ready to let go of that reckless, beautiful time and start a whole new time. I don't have to forget her. She can come with me.
It's time now to find something in the real world to be passionate about and to give my all to. Something I can quantify. I'm ready. Bring it on. Congratulations, you're 25. Shit.
Friday, February 12, 2010
Huge Downer Post #1
I haven't felt this down in quite awhile. I'm 99% sure it's PMS since I ate an entire bag of Moose Munch but you never know with me. I eat whipped cream for dinner 3 days a week.
I've never dealt well with stress and this week, month, LIFE has been pretty stressful. I have a seriously sick brother, a family struggling with a recession, friends who either don't find me important enough or won't say things to my face, I lack the 'healthy relationship' gene and have zero direction. Somehow with all this I know I am pretty well adjusted. Somehow with all this I know I am still a sunny, fun, confident girl. But it doesn't make anything change. It never has.
I've tried different ways of thinking. Of just believing life happens the way it's supposed to. Being completely proactive in making things happen. Having a positive attitude in all situations. Just being.
All of these different mottos and slogans never produced results. I have moved nowhere. And if there has been any movement it's been laterally. Who wants to live their lives moving to the next mundane situation with themselves?
This will get better or I'll make it better. That's a goddamned threat.
I've never dealt well with stress and this week, month, LIFE has been pretty stressful. I have a seriously sick brother, a family struggling with a recession, friends who either don't find me important enough or won't say things to my face, I lack the 'healthy relationship' gene and have zero direction. Somehow with all this I know I am pretty well adjusted. Somehow with all this I know I am still a sunny, fun, confident girl. But it doesn't make anything change. It never has.
I've tried different ways of thinking. Of just believing life happens the way it's supposed to. Being completely proactive in making things happen. Having a positive attitude in all situations. Just being.
All of these different mottos and slogans never produced results. I have moved nowhere. And if there has been any movement it's been laterally. Who wants to live their lives moving to the next mundane situation with themselves?
This will get better or I'll make it better. That's a goddamned threat.
Thursday, February 4, 2010
death, snow and michael jackson
Watching the news EVER is grounds for tequila shots and a few tears but watching the news when you're on the verge of a breakdown and it's a recession is just downright brutal. I don't even know how the news is in business anymore. Like really. Because according to the news everyone is dead....just saying.
Apparently 10% of this country is unemployed, the weather is stopping people from shopping/vacationing/eating and something about Michael Jackson has put our entire economy on hold and we're all spiraling into destitution. Awesome.
Where does that leave me and aren't I a little justified for being mad that this is the generation I have to live in instead of the free lovin' 70's or even the June Cleaver 50's? Aren't I justified in stomping my foot? Weren't we promised more from our teachers and parents and all those commercials swearing if we followed a certain path of education and good morals we'd be making dolla dolla bills and be happily paying off our mortgages with our hot partners? (No one promised my partner would be hot but come on, I have a pretty big rack.)
Really, all I am saying is that I feel like I have claim to whine and demand a few answers. Everyone was always so quick to give their opinions and judgements back when I had more choices but now that I'm stuck in a crummy situation everyone has relieved themselves of their Holier Than Thou duties. Why? BECAUSE THEY WERE WRONG ALL ALONG.
I feel like I got gypped by wasting four years of my life learning a job trade that wound up being nothing I could personally translate into a profession because our economy failed. I am aware a lot of other people are in my same boat and I shouldn't complain. But why not complain? I had to listen to all you idiots telling me what to do with my life up until this point so this time I'm not. I'm going to complain. And I'm going to continue complaining until I figure something out. MYSELF. Or give up. Either way.
I know I have no one to blame. I'm actually pretty aware that there is no one to ever blame but myself for anything but that still doesn't alleviate this constant pressure to be happy with what I am doing or what I have because there's nothing else out there. Because my only other options are death and hunger and Michael Jackson. Or was it Bruce Springsteen? I don't even know.
Apparently 10% of this country is unemployed, the weather is stopping people from shopping/vacationing/eating and something about Michael Jackson has put our entire economy on hold and we're all spiraling into destitution. Awesome.
Where does that leave me and aren't I a little justified for being mad that this is the generation I have to live in instead of the free lovin' 70's or even the June Cleaver 50's? Aren't I justified in stomping my foot? Weren't we promised more from our teachers and parents and all those commercials swearing if we followed a certain path of education and good morals we'd be making dolla dolla bills and be happily paying off our mortgages with our hot partners? (No one promised my partner would be hot but come on, I have a pretty big rack.)
Really, all I am saying is that I feel like I have claim to whine and demand a few answers. Everyone was always so quick to give their opinions and judgements back when I had more choices but now that I'm stuck in a crummy situation everyone has relieved themselves of their Holier Than Thou duties. Why? BECAUSE THEY WERE WRONG ALL ALONG.
I feel like I got gypped by wasting four years of my life learning a job trade that wound up being nothing I could personally translate into a profession because our economy failed. I am aware a lot of other people are in my same boat and I shouldn't complain. But why not complain? I had to listen to all you idiots telling me what to do with my life up until this point so this time I'm not. I'm going to complain. And I'm going to continue complaining until I figure something out. MYSELF. Or give up. Either way.
I know I have no one to blame. I'm actually pretty aware that there is no one to ever blame but myself for anything but that still doesn't alleviate this constant pressure to be happy with what I am doing or what I have because there's nothing else out there. Because my only other options are death and hunger and Michael Jackson. Or was it Bruce Springsteen? I don't even know.
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
at least I'm still 24?
I’m going to be 25.
I keep telling myself this is ok. That all those things I thought I was going to be by now are on their way. That I’m not a failure. That I don’t suck. And that God doesn’t hate me.
Is any of this true? In my panicked state – NO IT’S NOT!
25? Fuck you 25! With your lowered auto insurance rates and new age bracket on surveys! What does 25 mean that the first four years of my 20’s didn’t? Why was I able to screw around and not make any plans and be on no path before RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND? Now I am an “adult” and am being yelled at for not adding to my 401K. I want to add to my SHUT THE HELL UP FUND is what I want to do.
No I don’t seemingly have the greatest job. No I do not have a significant other. And no I still do not want to stop calling her “Mommy.” But I do a damned good job at faking it, don't I?!
Who is to say that everything wonderful and fantastic won’t happen this year? Who is to say that maybe I’ll stop being *cute* and start being *serious* or stop spending my money on handbags and start buying Hummels or whatever old people buy? NO ONE.
I've done so much with these 25 years that sometimes it's hard to believe. And somehow it has added up to me being here and having nothing I expected to have and being no one I expected to be. So far.
In the middle of realizing how fun and exciting and UNIQUE the kind of life I was allowed to lead was - I just started expecting that at the end of it all I'd have all the things that money and passion can't buy. Like JLo's butt. (jkjk)
I guess that's not how it was supposed to go. Yet.
Let's see what happens, eh?
...and if I find a grey hair I’m sending you all to hell with me.
I keep telling myself this is ok. That all those things I thought I was going to be by now are on their way. That I’m not a failure. That I don’t suck. And that God doesn’t hate me.
Is any of this true? In my panicked state – NO IT’S NOT!
25? Fuck you 25! With your lowered auto insurance rates and new age bracket on surveys! What does 25 mean that the first four years of my 20’s didn’t? Why was I able to screw around and not make any plans and be on no path before RIGHT THIS VERY SECOND? Now I am an “adult” and am being yelled at for not adding to my 401K. I want to add to my SHUT THE HELL UP FUND is what I want to do.
No I don’t seemingly have the greatest job. No I do not have a significant other. And no I still do not want to stop calling her “Mommy.” But I do a damned good job at faking it, don't I?!
Who is to say that everything wonderful and fantastic won’t happen this year? Who is to say that maybe I’ll stop being *cute* and start being *serious* or stop spending my money on handbags and start buying Hummels or whatever old people buy? NO ONE.
I've done so much with these 25 years that sometimes it's hard to believe. And somehow it has added up to me being here and having nothing I expected to have and being no one I expected to be. So far.
In the middle of realizing how fun and exciting and UNIQUE the kind of life I was allowed to lead was - I just started expecting that at the end of it all I'd have all the things that money and passion can't buy. Like JLo's butt. (jkjk)
I guess that's not how it was supposed to go. Yet.
Let's see what happens, eh?
...and if I find a grey hair I’m sending you all to hell with me.
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