Thankful to know this wonderful woman and to be a part of her gorgeous nuptials in Santa Barbara yesterday. Dorrie was a beautiful bride and there wasn’t a dry eye left in the house during the ceremony or first dance.
There’s not a whole lot that can unseat me like the feeling I get when I hear a bookstore that I once frequented regularly is closed. But that’s what happened this morning, ironically enough as I made my way to my neighborhood Barnes and Noble. I called home to talk to my Dad about an exciting discovery I made with my iPhone which was that a syndicated radio program that our family used to be avid listeners of, Hearts of Space, was available as an app that I could download and listen to. This was super exciting to me because this program has been this tiny sliver of my childhood that I really did think would not be re-entering my adult life, but the fates intervened on that one. (On another minor note, this program has been running since 1983 and is based out of San Francisco… fate is telling me something for 2012, clearly.)
Then Dad tells me the bad news: the Barnes and Noble I attended with him as a child is now closed. I could hear the deep sadness in his voice when he said it and the news stung me in about a million different places all at once. Hearing about another bookstore closing anywhere is already a devastating thing for me, but it hurt more to see it from the eyes of my father who is not technologically savvy and does not Kindle or iLive his way through life as well, I do. In between the close of this bookstore and the series of Borders that have left our neighborhood, the B. Dalton that closed in the early 2000’s and the extreme nightmare that was the day that the greatest of all bookstores, Library Limited, closed, just hearing this kind of quiet but resigned sadness in his voice made me immediately want to fly him out to where I live, where there are two Barnes and Noble stores nearby, where he could read and I could read with him, like I did when I was little.
The bookstores were the places where growing up, I felt the most at home. Books have always been my best friends. I have turned to them for support, for knowledge, for understanding, and even for love. I’d say it’s too often I do this, but really it isn’t often enough. This I became acutely aware of as I spent more than two hours in the aisles of the bookstore today.
Something I didn’t like about 2011 was that despite all of the work and jobs and parade of writing I did, there were many days where I felt supremely unchallenged. At the beginning of 2011, I credit that to my shitty job in which I basically did the same thing day in and day out and because of limited monies, was unable to broaden my horizons and stretch my mind. You say that being online can do that for you, but I tell you this: it’s a constant effort not to get stuck in a website rut. Going to all of the same favorite sites, watching the hottest videos, etc. There’s routine found there just as much as an real-life living can bring you. Towards the middle of the year and by the end, I didn’t feel as unchallenged, but being in the bookstore today for as long as I was damn near made me cry. My friends were all here! There in the fiction aisle, stacked in a heap by the biographies, smelling of fresh paper that had never been opened in the humor row.
How much I had missed them!
So today I went book shopping. This was something I used to do ridiculous amounts of in grade/middle/high school and even a bit in college (where the downward reading spiral began). In grade school, I would save up my allowance for weeks to get a big pile of books from the bookstore and my parents would provide the rest out of the Scholastic book order forms (I was the only kid in my class who not only received order forms for the bigger grades to read the more “mature books” but also would receive entire boxed book shipments just for me, I ordered that many books.) In high school when I had two jobs, it was not uncommon for me to sail into Borders and spend over $100 on books during one weekend or to check out over 20 hardcovers from the library and lug the entire bag home for many blocks on a humid 89 degree summer morning. Going book shopping now was a journey of care and picking out books I would (hopefully) not be sorry I purchased. Here’s what I snagged today (as included in the above photo provided by yours truly):
Talking to Girls About Duran Duran by Rob Sheffield
I like Sheffield’s work quite a bit (he also wrote the extremely touching Love is a Mix Tape) and this book is about growing up and finding the answers to becoming an adult via songs from the ’80s. I’m there, Sheffield, I’m there.
Wishful Drinking by Carrie Fisher
My Dad recently recommended I watch Fisher’s stand-up because according to him, Carrie Fisher is hilarious. And since I share my father’s sense of humor which is heavily reliant on fast-paced wit, self-deprecation to the max, and observational joking interlaced with pop culture references, both past and present, I was pleasantly surprised to find her book on the shelf. I cracked it open and the first thing I read was about how during the filming of Star Wars, Mark Hamill burst a blood vessel in his eye leaving a red dot behind so during the ending of the film, he had to keep “grinning like a motherfucker” to conceal said dot. Sold.
Is Everyone Hanging Out Without Me? (And Other Concerns) by Mindy Kaling
I know, I know, go on and say it was only a matter of time before a HelloGiggles writer would buy a book heavily endorsed by the site. From what I’ve read so far, I like it. I’m not sure how I feel about Kaling overall just yet- I’m picky with ladies who peg themselves in the “funny” pile. Only time will tell when I finish the book, as it will with all of my other selections.
It’s bookworm time,
Last night, my roommate and I were watching “Virgin Diaries” on TLC which was both incredibly horrifying and awesomely hilarious with the right touch of heartbreaking (how did they do that?!) all wrapped into one hour long special. My feelings on watching shows like these are split. There’s a part of me that feels very much enraged that somewhere out there, a sizable portion of the country tuning in is laughing and mocking these people at their celibate lifestyles. This same portion of me wants to blindly defend these people that I don’t even know. But then there is a separate portion of myself that is also laughing at them and can’t help it. This is the same portion of me who is just “oh come on!” You don’t tell a guy on your first date that you’re a virgin! And if you even want to have the date continue on to become ANYTHING beyond a first date, you sure as shit don’t go babbling, “I want kids!” or have your roommates (who are also single) meet your date at the door and badger him with 20 questions related to marriage. Also this is going to sound really bad, but the same portion of myself that rolls her eyes watching this and moans and groans is also the same person who thinks, “I am so glad I am nothing like that.” You know what I mean. I might have my own set of personality quirks, but I understand how to not be socially inept and downright weird in public. Which you’d only hope someone who works in communications with a degree in journalism would be but hey, not everyone in comm knows how to talk to people.
The best part of the show were the kissing scenes. Like fish sucking each other’s faces off. At one point there was just full on tongue everywhere and I nearly fell off the couch laughing. You really want the first kiss moment to be a sweet and cute one- as both a TV viewer and general human being- not one where you’re busting up laughing the entire time. In an off-hand way, this reminded me of my personal best kiss ever story. Ahhh this kiss. Twas a wonderful one, befitting for the evening.
It was the summer of 2008, right before I was set to move to California to attend school. Back in the day when I was working at Subway with my best buddy from home Melissa and was only a few weeks away from the big move. Mel got invited to go to a birthday party at this girl Leah’s house that weekend and asked me if I wanted to come along with her. Leah was in my year in high school and was a person I had lukewarm feelings towards. She wasn’t a bad person by any means but for a time there she was friends with this one girl I wasted too much time and friendship with in high school so I tended to steer clear of her. However, since we had both been out of high school for 2 years at the time, I decided to accept the invite and go with it. The theme of the birthday party was costume because Leah was really big on Halloween so we all got dressed up to go over. I dressed as the evil & sexy version of Alice in Wonderland with a pink and black wig on (important). Mel was a sexy version of Thomas the Tank which was basically her putting on a tiny ass Thomas the Tank engine tee shirt and matching shorts set. High-larious.
The setup for the house party was fairly standard. A few people at the beginning, then gradually more and more people started showing up, more alcohol, more kegs, the music got louder and louder, the scene got weirder and more hilarious, and the cops eventually got called. My memories from that night are spotty in some places and clear in others. A bunch of people I had gone to high school with showed up and all of them seemed extremely surprised to see me, swaying slightly from side to side from drinking, there. This is the same reaction I got in the 8th grade when I started going to mixers for the first time. Apparently virtually no one believes that I like to go out and have a good time. Pity for those people; they clearly do not know anything about my “Piano Man” bar evenings.
I’m leaving the house to go outside midway during the night and I turn on the porch to see this guy standing at the foot of the porch stairs. The porch light is beaming down on him and I stand there for a good minute going in my buzzed head, “Is that? No. Can’t be. But is it? Is that him?”
"Heather?" The guy asks in just about the same voice that I’m using in my head to ration out what I’m seeing before me. I smile and carefully ask in reply, "John?" while going down the stairs in my sparkly ballet flats.
"Hi!" John reaches out and hugs me and I’m literally stunned by the series of events going down.
John transferred to my school when I was a senior. Hands-down, the guy that every girl in my year immediately had a thing for. He was an enigma which is dangerous, dangerous thing to be in a private Catholic school, especially if you are a hot, straight dude who looks like a cross between Pete Doherty and some kind of Karl Lagerfeld dream guy model. He was also in the theatre department though routinely he pissed off the heads there, always arriving late and whatnot. I myself did not start noticing how attractive and kind he was until close to the end of the year when he was dating a friend of mine, K. In the war of the girls, I knew I literally had no chance of winning when up against K who had the following things working in her corner a) big boobs, b) lots of money and c) a lot of powerful friends. He dated her for about 2 years or so and the pair broke up a couple of weeks before Leah’s party. I knew this because K lived up the street from me and after running into her one afternoon, she told me about the breakup. Can’t say I was surprised either, just mostly in awe that they lasted for as long as they did.
Anyway, back to the porch. I tell John about my plans to leave for school in a few weeks which he remembers from when I was in high school where the plan first bloomed and was initially thwarted. While we both continue to talk (forgive me for not remembering all of the details, it was in 2008 and I was drinking) I had a few John-related memories re-enter my skull. One of the most prominent was when the two of us were in the stairwell together during an acting class I had enrolled in senior year. I remember asking him to sign my yearbook which almost immediately I wished I had not asked him to do. At the time, we shared both an acting class and a film class together and in the film one, I was particularly assertive, having once gotten into a debate about whether Crash or Brokeback Mountain would win the Oscar with another dude from the class (who interestingly enough, also resides in LA and works for Paramount). What the fuck was he gonna write in my yearbook- hey, loved hearing you scream at Mike “I KNOW the Academy and how it works!”-stay awesome!
He took his time writing in there, often pausing to glance up at me and continue writing. When he finished, he looked up at me once more, then kissed the thing he just got done writing, smiled, closed the yearbook, and handed it to me. I stuffed it into my handbag and said thanks and the bell rang and I went to the bathroom to read whatever he had written in the privacy of the bathroom stall. It said (forgive me for not remembering all of the details, it was in 2006 and that yearbook is somewhere in my old bedroom) that I was always doing or reading something interesting and that he often admired that in me and a bunch of other stuff all capped off with him signing “love, john” with a heart.
Interesting! It is the adjective of choice that every guy I have ever known slaps me with. And also the same one that guys I do not know pin me with too. The nice thing is that I am no Felicity Porter type- just because a hot guy from my high school writes in my yearbook doesn’t mean I will decide to drop attending my West Coast university in favor of a hometown college. And while there is a portion of me that fears that this sense of self may doom me from being caught up in multiple terrible semi-relationships throughout my twenties, ultimately what that yearbook and this story does for me in the long run is create a unique story that I can write about and others can feel they relate to.
The party keeps going and John and I go our separate ways. I continue to drink more and more and then the cops get called, I don’t know why it’s either the noise or the fact that underage kids are all doing keg stands outside. I hear the cop cars approaching and suddenly, I am struck with the irrational feeling that this may be the last night I see John again. I grab Melissa, “Mel!” I slur out, “I have to go find John! I have to kiss him before it’s too late!”
"Whaaa-" She doesn’t even get the word out but does stumble up to follow me out the front door as I spot him getting ready to leave with the group of dudes he came to the party with. Thankfully, none of them attended my high school. I bolt down the porch steps and find myself jumping in front of him before he leaves and kissing the crap out of him. The totally awesome thing is that he is really into it and is, and still stands, as the best kisser yet in my life.
The hilarious part is that during the kiss, my wig begins to fall off of my head. So by the time we finally let each other go, the wig is on the ground and the cops are coasting down the street. Very 2008 version of Romeo + Juliet minus the underage love story. “Bye!” I tell him and grab the wig and go running to the house where Melissa is on the front porch, cackling so hard she looks like she’s going to pee herself. “Mel! I did it! I kissed John! And then my wig fell off but I kissed John!”
"I know! I saw." She gives me this look that I’ll continue to see throughout the rest of my life but really only ever started seeing that night because I was in the presence of a true friend: the look that she’s with someone whom she truly enjoys the company of with the feeling being as mutual as possible. And even though these moments may end, we’ll never stop recounting them.
It’s been almost 4 years since that kiss and we still talk about it occasionally. As far as where John is, I don’t know. He isn’t on Facebook or anything so it makes it very hard for me to know anything about him. But that’s all a part of his enigma I suppose, and in many ways, makes it much nicer for me to have fonder memories of that night. I don’t imagine they’d be so nice if I routinely saw his profile every morning. God, I wonder if he even remembers that night.
If he does, I certainly hope I proved to be as interesting to him as he thought me to be.
This has been a flashback post,
I had a very strange dream last night which I thought I’d report here because sometimes this account is a dream log for me and this dream took place in three parts.
The first part was with my old roommate Sara and her boyfriend Zach. I was sitting with them both and telling her about a terrible date I had gone on. It turned out that my terrible date was a relative of Zach’s but only by a very long distance removed. We all laughed about what a shame it was that it didn’t work out and then this dream segued into the second one where I dreamed of a blogger I knew from my Blogspot days, Andrew. Very hilarious fellow who used to write all of these funny posts on truly terrible horror films that I enjoyed reading because I have a thing for terrible horror films myself (note to self: must write a post on Creep one of these days). I don’t know why I dreamed of him but in the dream I could sense that not all was right in that world. I nearly woke up from this one on the spot but didn’t. Instead I waited until the third dream ran its course to wake up and check out his blog where to my shock and appropriately enough, horror, he was shutting down his blog. Upsetting to me since he’s always been a wonderful blogging friend and had a quality blog too. It also made me wonder about some of my past Blogger friends and how I have not spoken to any of them in nearly a year. I wonder if someday soon this will be me with Tumblr too. There is no telling how soon our attention will be turned to something new and innovative so I’ll just chalk this one down for a future “perhaps.”
I have always thought it to be curious that I dream about the pain of people I know from time to time and occasionally in the dream world will dream of those in my family about to suffer something upsetting in their lives before it happens/at the same time it happens.
The third dream was the most detailed one of them all. I was back on my alma mater’s campus running late to my old Freedom of Comm class and trying to find my planner in my bedroom to take with me. For some reason in this dream, I’m wearing the same school uniform from high school and the planner I’m taking with me is my old high school freshman one. It’s raining outside. I get to class and realize we had homework- a huge reading assignment that I didn’t do. You could take a pass for the class if you had baked a tray of 28 cupcakes though. Which I had not done either. Then in walk a couple of my girlfriends from the class and they are all wearing Victorian era costumes in huge petticoats and laced corsets. Apparently if you got to class early you could get made up to look like a Gibson Girl. I lose my shit and start screaming and screaming about how I wanted that to be me and why wasn’t I there and so on and so on.
I wake up with a headache that takes a good 3+ hours to get rid of.
And in a few hours from now, I’ll be asleep once more.
See you in dreamland,
This is the first time in awhile that I’ve been so jazzed for a new season of TV shows. I used to be quite religious when it came to my TV schedule as a kid. Tuesdays were always Gilmore Girls, Thursdays were Friends, Sundays were HBO. I love TV. It’s the ultimate in entertainment, perfect background noise for work, and just general love for the characters on the shows. By writing that sentence, I doubt I eloquently enough conveyed exactly how much TV means to me. Let’s try again. Television has been my babysitter, my friend and foe, the reason why I focus on work and also for my procrastination. Sometimes it doesn’t understand me and my wants and needs. Sometimes I have to download it for free on the internet somewhere.
I’ve openly cried during the Sex and the City episode when Carrie turns 30, wanted to teleport inside of the episode of Oprah when she gave away the car, have behaved in a manner akin to a girl gone wild during spring break while watching Conan (laughing and yelling out inappropriate things), and drooling over Jon Hamm on every episode of Mad Men ever. Do not get me started on awards season, a general free for all bashing of designer gowns, laughing at the faces that Robert Downey Jr. and Jack Nicholson make, and screaming at the screen when my favorites lose. Sometimes I throw things. It gets weird.
This fall, I come with a game plan under my belt. We’re scheduling everything out. Most nights I spend writing, writing, writing anyway so why not have TV on in the background for breaks? I might even start writing my TV schedule on my calendar again. Blast from the past.
-2 Broke Girls
-The Playboy Club
I almost put HIMYM in this list too, but I am so far behind on that show it’s pitiful. Old repeats on FX are going to have to tide me over for now. I want to give Girls a shot even though I’m not completely into the premise (I’m almost certain that these “poor girls” will have a sweeping, unusually spacey Brooklyn NY apartment to live in). I’m definitely down with Playboy for sure. Since Mad Men won’t be back till next year, I need all of the ’60s era themed, gorgeously costumed shows I can get my hands on.
-The Rachel Zoe Project
RZ is a must. That’s my prime winding-down and getting ready for bed TV hour. New Girl I’ve already watched the pilot of and kinda sorta maybe liked it? It’s weird for me to write openly on the subject of Zooey Deschanel anymore because I started off being a gigantic fan of hers and then wound up writing for her co-owned website so to some degree now I guess you could kind of say she is my boss? To some degree? I still love that little lady, but obviously I won’t stick up 9.000 photos of her on my tumblr. She is far too quirky and adorable to portray a nerdy kind of girl. Even in her Lord of the Rings references, I can see the hipster boys quietly taking off their wire-rimmed glasses and setting down the PBR to get a closer look at her.
-Parks and Rec
-It’s Always Sunny
It’s the Ron Swanson-Troy ‘n Abed in the morning-Fat Mac power night and hot damn am I ready for it.
I am a simple girl who only ever wants my TV shows to be filled with impeccably dressed ladies and gents, lots of fantastic dialogue, a couple of murder scenes, characters that look stonily off into the distance when they’re upset, a Thomas Newman score, maybe some anti-government political undertones and if we can throw some period piece stuff in there, boom. Great TV. Boardwalk I worry not about since the first season was so damn good and Michael Pitt is incredibly gorgeous. Pan Am I feel very hopeful for since I have always had a soft spot for Ms. Ricci in my heart. If they follow the formula of excellent costumes and dialogue and acting, they could very well be the ABC version of Mad Men.
I’ll click my remote on to that,
Yesterday I got back from five days at home, aka something a lot of people would refer to as a vacation which if you know me, you’ll know vacays and I don’t mix well. The trip was way overdue, both in visiting home and in taking some time off for myself. It had its ups and downs. I found some really pretty dresses in my closet that still fit me (we’re talking dresses I wore when I was 16 that are still fashionable enough to wear today), danced a lot and drank even more, and ate some really delicious food at all of my favorite eateries. There were other moments though that were less than stellar. It’s hard for me to write it all down without sounding like a bitchy complainer who obviously has it made in spades, but I’ll try to convey some of the feelings I had in as not-spoiled a voice as I can.
1) You Might Have Outgrown It
I can sum up exactly how I felt toward my former home in one word: far. I felt so far from where I was three years ago, it was almost like visiting another life I had lived. Which it was. It was another life where I was younger, more naive (though that could still be debated within the context of my current age). I had different priorities when I lived there, working at different places, still lived with my parents and did the bazillion extracurricular activities I’ve always done while in high school.
Being under the same roof as three boys while you’ve been comfortable with living with girls for some time was also a jarring experience. Jesus Christ. The amount of swearing and dirty jokes I heard during those five days alone was enough to last me for years and years to come. Never before have I craved being back in my new world of cleanliness and bitchiness brought on by PMS sessions and everyone gathering together for an episode of True Blood or Sex and the City. I could never go back to living with my family again. It would make for a serious case of losing my mind.
Also my bed was really old and the few times I slept on it, it nearly broke underneath me. And when I say old, I mean a bed I’ve been sleeping in since I was four years old.
2) You Won’t Get to Do Everything
I had lofty aspirations for this visit. I wanted to go everywhere and do everything that I could. My schedule allowed me for next to no time sleeping but that ain’t nothing but a thang- I don’t get much sleep as it is!
But then my grandmother came to visit (which was a whole other kettle of fish that I won’t touch on here) and my lofty plans began to change and revamp into something else entirely. This is why I don’t like to go on vacation with other people, family or not. I like to make plans on where to go and what places to spend lots of time at and don’t like it when everyone else wants to spend more time at a place I find dull or not want to go out at night (and how can you NOT want to go out??).
Despite the change in plans, I was able to do most of the things I wanted specifically because I have awesome friends who also like to go out too. As the days rolled on, I began to realize that realistically it would have been impossible to go everywhere in the span of under 48 hours. But you know what? The places I did get to see made up for it. Being back in my favorite neighborhoods and exploring the old walking areas was pretty sweet.
3) Maybe It’s More Ghetto but The Booze is Cheap!
Outside of one of the dance clubs we went to was a guy in an SUV making barbecue for himself at 1am. He was listening to Girl Talk. Nobody at the club was marching outside and telling him to GTFO either. It was that single moment that made me proud of the city that I grew up in and I smiled and even laughed a little.
A little drunk at that moment too.
How could you not be though? My hometown has had an incredible amount of bars sprout up in it over the years and I’m pretty sure I was drinking every single day until the morning I left for home (actually a little bit that morning too). And everything was so cheap. At this club Library we went to (which used to be an actual library and features old books on the shelves) I ordered a drink for myself at about midnight. Something called a Cherry Bomb. I braced myself for typical California prices- at least $8.
3.50? Are you shitting me with that amazingness? Oh dear lord when was the last time I paid three American dollars and fifty cents for alcohol, ANYWHERE? Excluding fair grounds that is. And for a mixed drink, one of my girly ones that are notoriously overpriced??? It was a thing of beauty.
I partied like it was 1999.
I’m also extremely surprised that I didn’t get a hideous hangover either. Welp, I was back in the land of the headquarters to Anheuser Busch, where the booze flows like water throughout the city. But I still sent one of my best friends some needy texts which I knew she’d be fine with. And I didn’t drunk dial or text any guys I knew!! Somebody give me a round of applause because that shiz never happens.
4) I Love My Friends
This trip made me realize something I didn’t even need to realize: I love my friends. I love my Midwest girls and my West Coast ladies. Being with them, all reunited again and talking, talking, talking about everything only strengthened some already pretty strong bonds together. They’re another extension of me, the girls who know me the best and are very much like a second family to me.
No matter what coast you’re on, we’ve all got the same problems and things to talk about. Relationships and work were the top two. It was fun getting to pass my business card out to everyone who all oohed and ahhed over my “big girl” job that I have…I’m a very modest person so the entire visit I was blushing like cray cray. Being with my girls and their boyfriends was also a departure from my younger years because I know for a fact that two in particular will wind up getting married to the guys that they are currently with, something we definitely could not have had happen three years ago. And I am very happy with knowing this early on because they are such good guys for my friends. I’ve seen my friends go through a lot of shitty relationships and with these guys, it’s like all of the old ones don’t even matter. Like it was a rite of passage. First you must date boy A, B, C, D, and even E and F to get to the good one. The right one. The one. And even though everybody looks back on the old ones and wonders what if before they get to the one, once they get there they never look back again.
It was all so inspiring, it (almost) made me wish I was with someone.
Conversations weren’t always centered on work and relationships. There were some hilarious recaps on my high school classmates who recently had a five year class reunion (they could not wait for the 10 year apparently) and many of which are extreme hot messes. There was some mention about who now had babies and who broke up with who. Then there were your requisite depressing as fuck stories about who was now on heroin and a girl who was raped in the Porta Potty at a outdoor concert my friend went to. In particular, I spent a lot of time talking with my very best buddy Melissa who has grown the most out of anyone I know in the last couple of years and is very much on the best track in life again. She’s no longer hanging out with her ex-friends who were definitely dragging her life down (buncha lowlifes) and is in beauty school, working on creating hair masterpieces and beautifying the world, one eye shadow brush at a time. Making everything beautiful just as she is, inside and out! Spending time with her and with all of my girlfriends just made my heart full to bursting at times because I was surrounded by so much love and such kind people. People I can never not have in my life.
We also included another good friend at the table with us aside from ye olde Captain Morgan: food. Sweet baby Jesus did I have some goooood eats back at home. Burgers with fries and turkey sandwiches with Caesar salad and Mexican food in plates the size of like, four of my heads combined and provel cheese coated pizza and buffalo wing wraps with beer and free shots since the bartender used to be my old boss once upon a time ago.
5) Full On Summer
Beer and cheap alcohol aside, the humidity made every single day like stepping out into a swampland and the bugs were everywhere. I came back with dozens of mosquito bites, heard the cicadas screaming every night, and was hot, hot, hot every morning, afternoon, and evening outside.
Summer in the city, baby.
On the morning before I went home, I was sitting with the girls out by Coffee Cartel, one of our coffee hangout spots in the always-thriving and awake Central West End. I mentioned at one point something about how success isn’t something we all have to have right now and that’s relative. Your success comes at different points in your life and isn’t always going to be what everyone defines success to be- it’ll be the kind that suits you and works best for you and your life at that moment.
When I finished on my little spiel, my friend Marcella cried out, “Isn’t she so wise?” to which everyone nodded along to and I once more, blushed a whole bunch. I just read a lot is all and think too often.
When I was at home, I thought a lot about home in general. Former ones and current ones. Future ones that would appear later in my life. They say home is where the heart is. My home is where my bed is. I thought about how one place for so long was my home and now it didn’t feel like it was anymore. Then I thought about how one day (sooner or later) the place I now live at will not be my home either.
That spooked me. Where is my home? Do I even have one? Is it there or is it here? Is it somewhere else entirely (my guess is on that one)? What will it mean to me to have a concrete home one day in the future, one that might potentially contain a family or at least a study for all of my work. What if I just live out of hotels and apartments forever? Home obviously can’t be where your stuff is- in that case there’s home for me in many places and probably dozens of others where I’ve lost things at. If it’s where the heart is, I’m in big trouble because I keep leaving bits of my heart behind at too many places. Maybe there were some places I left my heart I don’t even remember. And why was the adage “home is where the heart is” anyway? Why not where your soul is or your mind or maybe just a place where you had a good laugh or a good cry? I feel like your home is where your spirit is- in a place so wholly comfortable that you know but continues to challenge you in different ways and teach you new lessons.
My biggest realization from that moment was that I don’t think I’ve been to that spirit home yet.
But I will soon!
A slightly less tired version of me,
To say my train of thought is all over the place is an understatement to say least. Right now, I’m thinking about the people I need to email, the piece for Forbes I need to write, another article I need to work on this afternoon, some edits to a personal piece for a site I write with that need to be done tonight, Panda Express for lunch and why isn’t it lunchtime already, M&Ms, Chelsea Handler, the fact that my cheek muscles still hurt from laughing a little bit just now, paying my student loan, etc.
So much more etc that I can’t even write it all. For this post and consequent ones after, I think it’s best for my brain if torn between two topics to have it all and write it all. Funny and serious alike.
Let’s start with divorced dudes.
For those of you who don’t know the story, I’ll recap. There is a really hot guy who lives a few apartment complexes down from me. Remember that Conan O’Brien skit If They Mated? If Jon Hamm and John Stamos somehow had a child, it would be this dude. He is so gorgeous it’s kind of alarming. Also alarming is that he is very down to earth, charming, and kind. Thus, I and pretty much every single lady (and cougar) in the apartment has a thing for him. But alas, for hottie has already put a ring on it and is married. Which was a small relief to me at the time because one of my friends told me to keep in mind the possibility of him being gay. And considering my Grace Adler history, married is a better option in the long run. I can work with married.
As of yesterday though, after running into John Stamos neighbor and one of my other neighbors at the grocery store, there has been a shift in the cosmic heavens. He is now officially divorced.
My first inclination was whoa. I was extremely surprised. This feeling was followed by a weird sort of “yay?” moment. I suppose pretty much every woman within the 50 mile radius of where I live is going all Glen Quagmire on this with a “Dear Diary. Jackpot.” moment but I really couldn’t. It’s sad if you think about it. I could never speak from experience on this one, but I know before my Dad married my Mom he was married to someone else and divorced her. And my 7th grade teacher who was one of my biggest mentors ever also told me about her divorce, albeit in an edited for content 7th grade friendly version.
I thought about it and realized that no, I’m not happy for this and never can be. How would you feel if you married someone that you thought would be the love of your life and it didn’t work out and you wound up getting divorced and there was like, a sea of single women who were all clamoring for you immediately after? I think they did a Friends episode about this once…when Monica wanted to date Richard after his divorce and was wearing the pirate eye patch and Joey was all, I wait an hour and then make a move? (’90s knowledge don’t fail me now)
It would horrify me because it’s like they were waiting for this moment to come. Society often discusses how it’s best for guys to have a rebound after, but depending on the nature of the relationship I think a grieving period is natural and necessary. It’s okay to be single for some time and get the focus back on yourself and what you want again.
Last night I was walking to my mailbox and overheard a woman talking about him. In the kind of talk that suggests, “Imma lock that down.” It was bizarre. How do we know what happened to end the relationship? What if he cheated on his wife? Would everyone still be willing to chase him still? And then that brings to mind the chase as a whole…personally I hate it because it’s always the d-bags who wind up chasing me but to have so many women chasing after one guy actively and blatantly in front of you is kind of surreal. It’s like an episode of The Bachelor up in here, only without the cameras, script, and willing guy.
I wish him all the best. Really and truly. He’s a great guy and good things will come to him. And even though a bunch of people I know are telling me I should pursue him, I’ll keep my distance. I myself am not in a big hurry for a relationship and even though he is one big piece of handsome (especially when wearing medical scrubs, yowza), it would probably derail me from the bigger picture I’m working towards: career!! Work! Trust me, my heart, soul, mind, and libido all guide me toward working.
On a lighter note…
Let me take a moment to discuss just how much I loved Jarret’s Room.
This was a skit from SNL in the early ’00s about a college student Jarret (Jimmy Fallon, rocking the dreads and laughing at every moment, duh), his best friend Gobi (Horatio Sanz, who is waaay thinner these days), and their adventures in their dorm room as recorded by their webcam show. All they did was smoke pot, make references to smoking pot, and talk about the band Phish. They would invite guests over for the show that ranged in variety from Lindsay Lohan who I think was like the fantasy love interest for Fallon and even Al Gore who played a professor, angry at Sanz for turning in a homework assignment that was one sentence written in pepperoni on top of a pizza (with half the sentence eaten).
It was hilarious. Right up there with Brian Fellow’s Safari Planet, Maya Rudolph playing Donatella Versace, Prince Show, and Goth Talk as part of my favorite sketches at the time. Episodes of note also mentioned facebook back when that term meant compiling something similar to a yearbook for incoming freshmen, they made Seth Meyers become a blip on our radar (“DJ Jonathan Feinstein, take us out!”), and made it cool to enroll in college for 7+ years without realizing it. It was probably the only time where it was fully acceptable for Jimmy to crack up at all turns since they were laughing about Baked Lays. It’s like chips, but they’re smoking pot!
Well, I laughed.
It’s almost Friday,