I've just realized I like my own writing.
Is that wrong?
Sunday, August 12, 2007
In Retrospect.
In the process of growing up, I sometimes sat and made a quick mental inventory of things I was pretty sure I'd get to witness along the way to adulthood. At ten years old, this list included living in the same city as my Dad and decorating my future cottage on the seashore. At ten years old, I was convinced I would never live to see the year 2000. Not because I didn't want to live to the year 2000, I just thought it was impossible to live to see the numbers change so drastically. It was an impossible concept to grasp.
At thirteen, my list grew a bit to include the New Kids on the Block and my eventual husband. I think that's when the hormones kicked in.
At sixteen, I lived in a new city. I had a very strange sense of the universe surrounding me. I felt like I was entrenched in this giant emptiness. It wrapped me like a wet blanket and I felt exactly like my favorite band at the time said, there was no future. It was probably due to a bunch of family-related issues going on, but I felt out of place, like I had mistakenly been dropped in the middle of somewhere I did not belong. Teenage awkwardness, check. This void surrounding me could not be explained rationally, so I decided I was probably doomed and would have to be an outcast my whole life while taking part in society's weird, useless rituals and traditions to please the people I thought were judging me. I wish I could travel back in time and take my younger self's hand and say "Calm the fuck down. Everything is going to be okay. You don't need to write death poems and funeral odes. You'll see, things get a lot better in seven years." My younger self probably would have started crying and run to her bedroom to write yet another dark, abstract, existential poem.
Seven years went by, a crapload of stuff happened, good and bad, sandwiched in between various phases and the evolution of my personal values and aspirations. Things did get better. The wet blanket of weirdness vanished. I did live, not only to see the year 2000, but also to keep dreaming about the seaside cottage. I've found my husband, although technically, we're not married, and the New Kids on the Block are now but a fleeing sweet smell in my past. Life has its share of eighteen-wheeler-sized surprises, and I am now able to make the most of them.
Yesterday, H and I were guests (and responsible for applauding on cue) at the first Lesbian Princess Wedding we've ever been to - tiaras, plastic high-heel shoes, and sparkly dresses included. Oh - and parents arguing about who should pay for the wedding. Two of our neighbors, aged 4, celebrated their wedding in the backyard. Then we had three funerals for the same bride, and one of the brides (the one who expired thrice) hid behind a bush with the other bride's older brother (who happened to be the priest at the wedding). Then we determined the location of spots to pretend to be sick in.
Life is good.
At thirteen, my list grew a bit to include the New Kids on the Block and my eventual husband. I think that's when the hormones kicked in.
At sixteen, I lived in a new city. I had a very strange sense of the universe surrounding me. I felt like I was entrenched in this giant emptiness. It wrapped me like a wet blanket and I felt exactly like my favorite band at the time said, there was no future. It was probably due to a bunch of family-related issues going on, but I felt out of place, like I had mistakenly been dropped in the middle of somewhere I did not belong. Teenage awkwardness, check. This void surrounding me could not be explained rationally, so I decided I was probably doomed and would have to be an outcast my whole life while taking part in society's weird, useless rituals and traditions to please the people I thought were judging me. I wish I could travel back in time and take my younger self's hand and say "Calm the fuck down. Everything is going to be okay. You don't need to write death poems and funeral odes. You'll see, things get a lot better in seven years." My younger self probably would have started crying and run to her bedroom to write yet another dark, abstract, existential poem.
Seven years went by, a crapload of stuff happened, good and bad, sandwiched in between various phases and the evolution of my personal values and aspirations. Things did get better. The wet blanket of weirdness vanished. I did live, not only to see the year 2000, but also to keep dreaming about the seaside cottage. I've found my husband, although technically, we're not married, and the New Kids on the Block are now but a fleeing sweet smell in my past. Life has its share of eighteen-wheeler-sized surprises, and I am now able to make the most of them.
Yesterday, H and I were guests (and responsible for applauding on cue) at the first Lesbian Princess Wedding we've ever been to - tiaras, plastic high-heel shoes, and sparkly dresses included. Oh - and parents arguing about who should pay for the wedding. Two of our neighbors, aged 4, celebrated their wedding in the backyard. Then we had three funerals for the same bride, and one of the brides (the one who expired thrice) hid behind a bush with the other bride's older brother (who happened to be the priest at the wedding). Then we determined the location of spots to pretend to be sick in.
Life is good.
Thursday, August 09, 2007
In Style.
I took the bus home today, as usual. Unlike regular days of the week, I had a seat on the bus. So far, so good.
What I did not expect, Throng of Fans, was the guy who got on the bus one stop after me. I don’t know why, I always look at people who get on the bus with me. It’s a habit. I like observing people, it’s in my nature. I usually get away with it too, because I am very discreet. Thank the Little Pixies That Rule the World, I am discreet. So the puddle of drool pooling in my lap went unnoticed.
This guy – ohhhh this guy. I’ve always had a not-so-secret crush on the David Usher type, and this pinstripe-suit, awesome tie, briefcase-carrying babe was it. We both sported rings on our left hand ringfingers, but I swear if I hadn’t, I would have slipped him my card. Oh yes. Heehee. Oh – sorry – I’m giggling.
Okay, enough.
I am back, as you might have noticed, after quite a break. I hope you didn’t give up on me…I had a very relaxing two-week getaway and made the most of it. To me, a holiday that includes family, friends, a lake, Uno, Mille Bornes, good food and drink, a fire & marshmallows is a pretty awesome holiday. Yummy. I rest my case.
And now, a first. A poll! I am allowing ten days for you Monkeys to post your answers in the comments. I'll let you know the results, I promise.
Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
a. To hit on the hot girl chicken on the other side;
b. This side of the road had become boring;
c. To ogle the 1969 Z28 Camaro on the other side;
d. To slip his card to the hot business guy with the pinstripe suit and the tie and the briefcase.
Hands off, Chicken.
What I did not expect, Throng of Fans, was the guy who got on the bus one stop after me. I don’t know why, I always look at people who get on the bus with me. It’s a habit. I like observing people, it’s in my nature. I usually get away with it too, because I am very discreet. Thank the Little Pixies That Rule the World, I am discreet. So the puddle of drool pooling in my lap went unnoticed.
This guy – ohhhh this guy. I’ve always had a not-so-secret crush on the David Usher type, and this pinstripe-suit, awesome tie, briefcase-carrying babe was it. We both sported rings on our left hand ringfingers, but I swear if I hadn’t, I would have slipped him my card. Oh yes. Heehee. Oh – sorry – I’m giggling.
Okay, enough.
I am back, as you might have noticed, after quite a break. I hope you didn’t give up on me…I had a very relaxing two-week getaway and made the most of it. To me, a holiday that includes family, friends, a lake, Uno, Mille Bornes, good food and drink, a fire & marshmallows is a pretty awesome holiday. Yummy. I rest my case.
And now, a first. A poll! I am allowing ten days for you Monkeys to post your answers in the comments. I'll let you know the results, I promise.
Question: Why did the chicken cross the road?
a. To hit on the hot girl chicken on the other side;
b. This side of the road had become boring;
c. To ogle the 1969 Z28 Camaro on the other side;
d. To slip his card to the hot business guy with the pinstripe suit and the tie and the briefcase.
Hands off, Chicken.
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