Dear Allison,
At church today, an elderly woman stood during the “Joys and Sorrows”-sharing part of the service to tell the community about her sorrow, which was that she was unable to be by her “best friend in the world’s” side as her friend’s life was coming to a close on the other side of the country. She told us this, then took a moment to look to the side before blurting, “…I don’t know what I can do… or what I’m going to do…” and then turning to light a candle. Meanwhile, I buried my face in my hands to hide my now-convulsive sobs; I wanted nothing more than to intercept the woman with an embrace as she made her way, deflated and burdened, to her seat. Without thinking it, I realized that that woman may one day be me and I may be talking about you.
And then I thought, “God, I hope I die before Allison does so I never have to live without her.”
And then I remembered how much you fucking loathe that Winnie the Pooh quote about him wanting his friend to die a day after him so he doesn’t have to live without him and what a selfish douchenozzle move that is to wish on a friend - that they’d spend their last day in total misery because their BFF just died AND they’re slowly dying. And then I started giggling about how that sort of thing pisses you off enough to make one of your rare rants about it.

We met ten years ago to this week, by the way.

I’m sure you’ve realized in retrospect that you met me at the exact moment I reached the precipice of my freefall into unfuckingimaginable insanity/destruction after years of a slow-but-consistent descent in prologue. Really, the fact that we were still friends within a year of meeting each other is miraculous in itself because HolyLordballs, was I busy losing my damned mind.

I have a confession I never actually verbalized to you: you were my Bright Spot then. I remember meeting you and going to your dorm room and seeing this art that you’d created just because you wanted to make a prettier space for yourself (wha?! I didn’t know people did that! I thought people made art to show it off to each other or because their art teacher assigned it or because they wanted to submit it to something and get “famous”) and you sang songs that you’d written for your own amusement and you were this completely self-actualized, energetic being in a world of idiots (read: me) who were flailing around trying to leech energy off anything they thought was “cool” or “important” at the time and it was an unbelievable state of mind to encounter from where I was. Because, most of the time, when there’s someone who is somehow “above” the mentality of their peers, he or she has to have some sort of following or need to declare their mental/spiritual/artistic superiority to everyone else - especially if that person has been recently liberated from the confines of high school. But not you, dude. You just sort of did what you did and you liked what you liked and you were completely oblivious to the fact that you weren’t just “different”, but really, genuinely, special. (And not “special” like our generation’s everybody’s-special-in-their-own-snowflake-way “special”, but special like holy-shit-she’s-going-to-change-lives-and-do-shit-that-bends-reality special.) I’m not saying that either one of us knew what, exactly, you were supposed to do with all that “special”-ness at that point in the game and, you know, you’ve had a bit of a learning process with it, but I still knew then. Even though at the time, I was busy being either a)completely obliterated or b)completely absorbed in that disgustingly destructive relationship I was enamored with, I still recognized the energy we had together, even when people around us did not. (And still don’t, I think. I’m okay in the idea that we confuse people, though.)

ANYWAY. I don’t wanna bore you with a wordy scrapbook of memories ’cause, you know, we’ve talked about them to a masturbatory degree. (The only people who love talking about how awesome their situation is more than we do are Burning Man attendees…)
But, after a decade, I’m convinced that there has to be something Bigger going on here than two weirdos having befriended each other in a bullshit theater class. (Seriously. That class was buuuulllshiiiit. “Constructive Rest Position”? Learning to tremble? Bite my ass, Jermaine.)

You loved me when I hated myself so much I literally tried to murder myself. You have loved me when I let my demons reject you from my life. You have had that same delusional faith in me even when my life was nothing more than rolling out of my bed at my parents’ house and driving to the technical college up the road in my pajamas day after day because I’d failed at literally everything else. When I told you I was pregnant by some dude I’d been dating for 3 months, (less than a year after my second mental hospitalization, ohbytheway) your immediate response was to exclaim “CONGRATULATIONS!” and send me a bouquet of my favorite flower (lilies) the next morning, even though everyone else around me provided me with silence and fear for the next month. You have cheered me on from the sidelines, even when you were literally my only enthusiastic fan and you have never once shown any doubt that I wasn’t the person you’ve been trying to convince me that I am, even though I’ve done things to contradict that hypothesis many, many times.

Even though the noises in my mind sometimes get too loud for me to focus, I want you to know that I have never stopped loving you just as much. I cried every night you slept in the hospital and, aching with powerlessness, leapt at the chance to cram all your necessities (read: record player, paints) into my Jeep from Greensboro to Charlotte. I blew all my money from that coffee-shop job of mine for those monthly (sometimes fortnightly) treks up to Asheville to see you and I never once hesitated to plaster your art all over my dwelling space the minute it was given, in any form. I made sure to practice singing along to the more obscure PJ songs so I’d know all the words for the “next time” we got to see them perform (it totally worked!) I have always continued to talk to Chloe about you and show her pictures so she wouldn’t forget her godmother between the times she got to see you.

But I am, by no means, unaware that I’ve dropped the ball a lot and, when looking at this friendship and identifying its role within my life from this vantage point, I can’t help but feel the deepest regrets for the times I’ve let you down - you more than with anyone else I’ve ever disappointed. (Don’t tell my mom.) Dismissing your declining health and its symptoms (and understandable insecurity of those symptoms that compounded them) as “selfishness”, I pulled myself away from you and cut you off completely, in the name of “self-preservation”, instead of bothering to find out what, exactly, was at the root of your uncharacteristic actions. In my heart, I knew better, Allison; I know you better than to assume you’re just another brainless, unaware victim of self-absorbed-twentysomething-ism… why didn’t I do more? Why didn’t I stop to look deeper? Why didn’t I at least recognize that you weren’t being yourself - that something was obviously hurting you? I don’t know, Allison. I’ve spent hours of time wondering to myself what the hell kind of mental state I could’ve let myself get to in which I would completely ignore the “you” I inherently know and then regard your disease as your Self so much that I’d turn my back on you entirely. This time spent has only caused me insufferable pain - pain that worsens when I contrast my actions with the ones you’ve made when the roles have been reversed. As a friend, by comparison, I have been a selfish coward whose actions haven’t supported all those rambling speeches about your greatness I’ve made over the years. I don’t know why I have ever betrayed your trust or love when you have never once been disloyal to me, but I do know that I may never forgive myself for it. It’s just another testament to your wonderfulness that you somehow have, as always, seen that these actions aren’t indicative of my real Self and have forgiven me. Additionally, you have never once held me hostage for my shortcomings… Don’t think I don’t always carry those truths with me.

I always say that Chloe was The Thing That Saved My Life, but you need to know that YOU have constantly been The Thing That Makes Me Better. You bring out something in me that makes me a totally different person than the one I always thought I was; the energy I get when you’re around makes me love being alive and love being present and love being creative and fucking LOVE being myself. That sounds inane and melodramatic and really, really adolescent, but it’s true; you make me really happy to love the things I love. (”I JUST LOVE THE STUFF I LOVE!!!”) Just like I’d always kept my burning passion for Pearl Jam stuck in my pocket until I met you and let it reignite like crazy ever since, you’ve been the one to give me permission to really hurl myself at my loves, regardless of how idiotic they look to everyone else. You’re the one who lets me ramble for hours about Jim Henson/“Sesame Street” and who wants to watch “Tommy” 4,000 times to blabber about its nuances with me and you’re the one who will introduce me to new stand-up comedians or let me subject you to them and then dissect their genius for years upon years and you’re totally okay with spending Bear’s naptime just hanging out, smoking a hookah, drinking a shitload of Cheerwine, watching/running commentary during “Gia” and giggling about how fabulous it all is after making freshly-picked-strawberry-jam and you’re the one who gives me confidence to submit my writing to other people when I think it’s not terrible and you’re the one who gave me the balls to actually put that first stencil to use tagging various landmarks by immediately shouting “YES! LET’S DO IT!” and you’re the one who fucking laughs her ass off when I make a joke that I think is pretty good. You’re the one (many times the only one) who encourages me to not only figure out exactly what it is that I am, but to get really good at being that thing and then showing it to other people, when you will cheer loudly about it. Jesus Christ! Just writing that makes me feel unworthy.
Oh, but oh yeah! AND you’re able to do all of this cheerleading while also going out and seeking your own identity and truth and rocking at that, too.
DO YOU KNOW HOW RARE THAT IS!? Do you have any idea how fucking lucky I am to have found the aforementioned person AND that that person hasn’t totally given up on me yet AT ALL EVER (maybe because she’s insane, but I’m okay with that)!?!?!?! Because I don’t. I literally cannot conceive the odds of finding someone as special as you, having you come into and stay in my life for this long, and giving me all the gifts you have (and not just because I’m terrible at math…)

So, yeah. I just wanted you to know that I thought about all this today in church and realized that I’ll be talking about you still if I make it to 70 years old. And I realized that I would literally peel the skin off my back and sew it into a greasy, bloody skin-shirt for you if you absolutely needed it [in some post-apocalyptic, dystopian reality where that would somehow be crucial for survival.] (That sort of plot-hole is why I don’t write sci-fi.)
And I hope you know that everything I’ve ever said about your energy and vibrancy and incredible talent is the truth and is one of the rare, few things I Definitely Believe In. And I hope you know that I love you and have loved you no matter what my slow-to-adapt mind has convinced me of. I feel like you know these things, but I also felt like I needed to state them plainly and in print, where they could be cited and referenced.
More than anything, though, I’m so grateful that you’ve been such a definitive part of my last ten years. I don’t want to say anything hokey or forecasting about the future because that always seems to backfire for morons (ex: “Hope I die before I get old” - P.T.), but do know that these last ten years have been wonderful (even when they were fuckinggoddamnawfully terrible) because you have been in them.

Thank you so very much, Allison. Even if all our inside jokes and all our co-creations and all our memories and all our shared loves were suddenly stripped away from my conscious mind, I would still love you and everything you inherently are. I promise.

Right behind you,
L P-S

I had a handful of things I was distraught about within my daily life before the holidays started and, so, to distract myself from those things, I flung myself into festive insanity headfirst, like sending Christmas cards and arranging for a visit from an old friend and planning overzealously for a day-with-a-bride-friend and eating at my local cupcake shop every day for a month and, you know… stuff. Don’t get me wrong; I thoroughly enjoyed these distractions, but I ultimately knew that it would mean my return to my Underlying Problems eventually and, alas. Here we are.

Some things in my psyche have changed in big ways, which is good for my day-to-day mentality: I’ve found peace with and befriended a major antagonist from my past (no, for real) and learned/came-to-peace with some other truths surrounding the whole context of our relationship, which clears up an absolute ton of weight sitting in the back of my subconscious (although I’ve tended to keep that part quiet in the years since we last spoke because, frankly, I hated that it was even there. ANYWAY.) Greg and I are in a really good, forward-moving, mentally healthy place; the Bear is slowly becoming more independent and I feel like I’m able to liberate her to her own volition a lot more, which is more rewarding than the feeling of being sapped of needs. A friend gave me a new perspective on writing this memoir (write it more like an editor reading someone else’s work instead of trying to re-live all that emotion and horseshit for the purpose of producing “authentic” work. So, basically, start editing those blog entries I’ve kept on a hard drive for some 8 years now) which is also incredibly freeing.

But, aside from that, there is still the Fear I’m finding myself faced with in my writing and the loneliness that’s been dragging me into stasis. I have set-in-stone, proactive plans to fix these things in the near future (like, I’m starting yoga classes this week and I’m taking the Bear horseback riding on Saturday and I’m making a writing schedule for myself so I’m holding myself to at least some sort of discipline.

But, if we’re being honest here (and I am), I woke up this morning and found that my excited, engaged energy from the last month has ground to a halt and I’m staring into the abyss of 2012 with a feeling of familiar dread and sinking morale. No matter how much I’m pep-talking myself (and, again, I definitely am), I’m fighting off tears and the urge to create another distraction for myself. I feel confident I could wallow in either for years if I really wanted to, mostly because I already have.

I’m reminded of an old saying a friend once shared: “On good days, chop wood and haul water. On bad days, chop wood and haul water.”

This is one of those rambling ones. But with bullet points. And some might be seemingly passively-aggressively directed toward someone specific, but those are really just things I wanted to say but didn’t that are being directed here at nobody in particular. And some of these are just facts. And some of these could be sung out loud to the tune of “Lady” by STYX. Maybe.

~ A couple weeks ago I was yelling along with the “Pick of Destiny” soundtrack as per all my solo roadtrips when I came upon the “Dude, I Totally Miss You” track. Now, a dear friend of mine and I have sworn to sing it at the other’s funeral, depending on who goes first and I’ve howled along with the song dozens upon dozens of times since we made that pact, but, for some reason, driving down the road all by myself in the middle of nowhere in broad daylight, my mind somehow conjured up the emotions that would have accompanied my performance if I was actually doing it at her funeral. Like, you know how sometimes you get so lost in a fantasy or a thought or a memory on the road that you kind of drive without thinking for a while and when you “come back”, you don’t remember a chunk of the trip (they referred to it on “30 Rock” once as “driving amnesia”)? Basically, that happened as I was absorbed into this insanely elaborate fantasy regarding me singing in front of a packed cathedral, being backed by Tenacious D on guitars and vocals and Grohl on the drums and I was sobbing as though it was all real. Okay, I’m sure that sounds nuts, but I figured it was just a manifestation of my subconscious grieving the fact that she was moving far far away relatively soon. Either way, I gave a harrowing performance that I’m sure looked more than a bit alarming to anyone who passed me on the road, but that definitely had Peter Dinklage weeping slow tears in the fourth pew back.

~ (WARNING: Here be euphemisms) When I’m “in need of a fix” and I can’t “get my old engine out of the station” so I have to “double-click my own mouse”, the most efficient visual aide for the last 10 freaking years has always been watching Pelle Almqvist in the “Hate to Say I Told You So” video. Literally nothing “gets the job done” as quickly or as effectively as that… not even “Stoya Kills the Bear” (the latter is NSFW, should you choose to Google it. Heh. I’m kinda hoping a few of you do, actually, ’cause I love bewildering people.)

~ I did not know that “Mahatma” was a title of sorts whereas “Mohandas” was Gandhi’s actual real name until this week, when I finally read the back of his autobiography, which has been laying beside my bed in a pile of literature for over 6 months now. And I feel like the biggest moron on the planet for that.

~ When your name pops up in my Facebook Notifications, I get uncharacteristically giddy and bashful and giggling-behind-my-curled-in-hand weird. At my computer. All by myself. Every single time.

~ Today, the Bear and I were tumblin’ around together and she pulled me over into a position where I was lying halfway over her on the couch, with my elbows supporting my weight, but my legs still dangling off the front as though I was sitting upright. Suddenly somber, she reached up and pulled my head into the crook between her neck and collarbone on her left side and started stroking my hair and giving me kisses on my forehead. Obviously, she was mimicking an action I’ve done for her many, many times but she kept it up for about 20-ish minutes, just stroking my hair and softly saying things like, “I love you more than anybody.” and “You make me sooo happy, do you know that?”  It was more healing than many of my years in therapy.

~ I totally voted for you even though I knew about some scandalous (no-harm-no-foul-type) stuff way before all this other junk hit the news. What I mean here is: you should probably hire somebody to write “thank you for not ever saying anything” letters for you full-time ’cause you’ve got looooads of people who ain’t talkin’ and haven’t been for a long time, apparently.

~ My daughter is obsessed with that story about the girl with the green ribbon around her neck who grows up and asks her husband to untie it and her head falls off… and it’s creeping me out how often she wants me to read it to her and then answer her probing analytical questions regarding the plot.

~ It is literally mind-numbing how much hotter you’ve gotten since high school… which is why I act like a moron when we communicate…because my mind is unable to process the very obvious, basic reality with which is has been presented and, therefore, cannot possibly be expected to do anything else.

~”Swingers” and “Ghost World” are both overrated crap, along with “Lost in Translation”, no matter how good any of the individual performances were. There. I said it out loud.

When I first learned about my upcoming high school reunion a few months ago, I promptly threw up from anxiety.

The worst part is that, until today, I had no idea why. In the months since, this same terror and apprehension has plagued me every time I bring up the “To go or not to go?” debate in my head and I’ve stayed up for many nights wondering what the hell it is exactly that I’m so scared of; there weren’t any bullies that I’m still intimidated by (those were all in jr. high) and it’s not like I was a total loner. In fact, high school was, for the most part, pretty good to me (ESPECIALLY when compared to the more-cruel-than-most-kids-have-it middle school years I’d just endured in another state.) I was friends with genuinely wonderful people,* I had a supportive family (even though, like all adolescents, I got to wade through the my-parents-are-human-with-flaws-so-now-I’m-mad-about-it phase), I was involved with student activities and was social and had handfuls of good memories… All in all, it wasn’t awful. So what it that was keeping me doubled over with abdominal pain every time the idea of reuniting with this group of people sprung to mind?

Only after a few months of contemplation did I finally realize what it is that I’m legitimately, wholeheartedly, fucking terrified of. There’s one person I very desperately never want to reunite with in any circumstance and whom I feel will be unavoidable at a high school reunion: Me.

Look, I know that sounds melodramatic and disgustingly self-centered but here’s the thing: I’ve spent the last decade fighting off and then ditching the person I was back in the late-90’s/early-00’s (In fact, on one occasion, I literally tried to kill her and had to be hospitalized for a littletinybit to learn how to get along with her… but that’s another story that I’ve talked about entirely too much.) I’ve spent years going to therapy to learn to not be anything like her and I’ve given dozens of heartfelt apologies for the awful things she used to say and do to people and how she used to make people feel. (Some have been accepted while others have not. This, also, is something I’ve learned to accept and put behind me.) I’ve obsessively tackled [almost] every fault I can so I’m increasingly less like the person that everyone I was around in high school will remember. (She and I still share a penchant for overindulgence, but I figure that’s not as pressing a personal issue as, say, pathological lying or spewing hatred for no reason or other soul-sucking yuckness.) I’ve worked really, really hard to make myself into someone I like being around (a first for me) and to have as little in common with my former self as I possibly can (on a behavioral level, anyway.) I’ve moved myself far, far away from her nasty mentalities, her cowardly cynicism, her need to tear down those she envied and her unbelievably repellent self-loathing. And the idea that I’d have to spend a weekend revisiting the time I spent with her is enough to make me sick with the guilt and regret I’ve only just managed to get over.

Don’t get me wrong; there are many people from these high school years with whom I have some very happy memories and who have shown me that they don’t remember me as some horrible monster. But, even when I revisit old pictures and remember how my mind/actions were completely fueled by fear and insecurity, it’s too black and embarrassing to deal with. The self-induced chaos in which I conducted my entire adolescent being is just too heavy, too overwhelming for me now. I feel myself being tugged down with the weight of it [in tandem with residual shame] and I’m not sure if being around people who only know/remember that part of me is going to be beneficial at all.

It would be different if I was still struggling out of all of that mental muck, but the truth is that I’ve just gotten to the point where I’m no longer constantly, exhaustively burdened by my past; I’d like to enjoy that peace for just a little longer without having to “test it out.” I don’t hate who I was in those years; I’m just over her and all her bullshit, in essence. She’s taken enough from me and I don’t feel like she deserves any more time or energy. The risk of running into someone who can’t get past the gossipy, superficial a-hole I was to most people and having to try to convince them of a change of character just seems like too much work for me, especially when there are only a handful of people there whom I’d go out of my way to reunite with in the first place. (And those people know who I am now anyway.)

So, I honestly may be staying away from any class reunions in order to avoid running into myself… which is arguably the craziest-sounding thing I’ve ever uttered AS WELL AS the most rational introspection I’ve done in a while.

Thanks a freaking lot, therapy.

*As aforementioned, my one major romantic entanglement from my adolescent years will no longer be discussed - neither on this blog nor in real life - so all of the above assertions are to be read with the general understanding that this relationship is excluded.

Dear Birthday Fairy,
I made a mistake. I kind of took you for granted last year and just assumed you’d deliver magic like you did in 2009 (remember? Snow and Obama on the same day?!), so I didn’t nag you with specific requests and kinda got stuck with diddly stuff. And this year I forgot to ask Christmas fairy for any silly indulgences so I had to make a lot of returns at Bed Bath and Beyond due to people who believe that more “stuff” given = more love shared. (::Sigh::)

So, my bad. Anyway, I hope you’ve had a great year and are taking care of yourself. The list is in order from “Things I’ll Try to Get Even If You Don’t” to “Frivolous Things I Can Live Without”

Let’s get started!

Ammo for my Dream Garden
I finally have the time, the will and the yard to build the Backyard of my [budgeted] Dreams, but I need a little help. There’s a pile of here-and-there’s that I need (like a wheelbarrow, hedge-trimmers. mortar, bricks/stones, etc) and I want at least a bazillion things from a local nursery (I’m going to have a flower garden AND a vegetable garden with fruit trees! There’s a lot of plantery to be procured!) so, really, if you wanna just send some money for that local nursery or a gift card to Lowe’s/Home Depot, that works for me. I won’t be picky.

Invisible Shelves
Look, I have a crapload of books. I’ve read about 75% of them and have the other 25% in a giant stack/pile/mound beside my nightstand (where they HAVE to stay because I’m one of those people who reads 5 books at the same time. For example, this week I’m simultaneously reading “In Defense of Food”, “Fargo Rock City”, “Man and His Symbols” and the autobiographies of both Mae West and Tallulah Bankhead), which drives my husband bonkers because, apparently, they’re a fire hazard or a potential home for a colony of rodents or impossible to surmount or something… So, with these cool bookshelves, I can make my clutter look like some sort of wizardry! And who doesn’t want that? In fact, maybe he’ll be so astounded by my coolness that he won’t yell at me for spending money on more books than I’ll ever be able to read ever!! Win/win!

Looks like books are just hangin' out on the wall! Cooool!

Running Shoes
I like New Balance but, because I only update running shoes every 2-3 years, I don’t know much about the styles. I just know that I’m not much of a runner. But when I do it, I’m gonna need shoes that have tread on them. Unlike the ones I have now.

Yoga Mat
It has become apparent that getting into a couple poses once or twice a day is something I enjoy, which is weird because regimented exercise has always been one of those things I hate so very, very much. However, if I’m gonna do this, I at least need a decent mat because I’ve got rugburn like whoa.

Exercise ball
Doing repetitions of weird acrobatics is another weird thing I like to do on days around the house; however, my original exercise ball burst when the cats discovered its launching abilities. Fantastic.

Another Trip to Burning Man

Guess which one is a surgeon?

Alright, I’ll tell you right now that I’d sacrifice every single thing on this whole list to get back out to the Playa this year. I ached to go for the 7 years leading up to last year’s trek but, now, after having been, I’m afraid I’m going to miss it so badly I’ll hurt the whole week it’s going on. This being said, there’s no way we can make a trip like that work. I know people are always saying “there are ways” and “you just have to budget your money” and all that noise but honestly? It’s impossible for us to go again. Like I’ve said, if we hadn’t been handed that $1,000 prize for the exclusive purpose of going to the event last year, we never ever would’ve considered it (even if we’d won that same amount of money from another source.) When I went, it hurt when people kept saying “Well, there’s always next year” because I knew and still know that, for the foreseeable future, the 2010 trip to the Burn will be a once-in-a-lifetime trip. And I made sure to savor it as such and be incredibly grateful for the opportunity to do so.

But, man, it’d be great to get out there again.

The Following Books
Believe it or not! There are only a couple!

DIY Delicious
‘Cause I wanna learn how to make stuff from scratch

How to Build a Fire and other Handy Things Your Grandfather Knew

Or anything else on My Amazon Wish List

A Wax Seal Press
Not with my initials or a fleur de lys, please.

See? ah-like so...

Those Pretty, Pretty Peacock Shoes of Magicalness
I will never own them if you don’t deliver, Birthday Fairy. I’m just putting that out there. Size 9, please!

But look how preeeetttyyyy!

Toy Story 3 and/or Ponyo on DVD
These are actually gifts for the Bear, but also for me; we haven’t been able to return “Toy Story 3″ to Netflix in a month because the Bear looooves it so much. So, essentially, we’ve been renting it by the month. I don’t mind either movie and would like to have my Netflix service back, so owning these is kind of just practical, even though usually I feel like owning DVDs is a total racket.

The Just Ducky Tea Infuser
I actually bought one of these for my grandmother-in-law, but I didn’t have the funds at the time for another. They’re so cute and GENIUS; when your tea is sufficiently submerged, the ducky floats! How cute is that!?

He's adorable! And practical!

Homemade, Artsy Stepping Stones
Ideally, these would be made by a friend of mine who does mosaics, but I also like the idea of having a number of artists/friends make super pretty stepping stones for my garden, since the plain, cinder ones are a drag. And I hate the ones that come in kits that have whimsical stuff written all over them. I don’t even necessarily want them to be any more than pretty broken glass shoved into concrete; they’ve just gotta be colorful and shiny. Or hook me up with the materials and I’ll do it myself.

Coconut Lime Verbena Shampoo/Conditioner/Lotion/etc.

Look, I just don’t have $7.50 to spend on mediocre shampoo I’m only going to get 6 uses out of. However, having my hair smell like a tropical vacation wonderland in the middle of the winter is a true joy and delight and, frankly, that Suave coconut scent is whack. (Yeah, I said it.) This stuff is amazing and luxurious and lets me leave my [usually harried] shower feeling like I just sipped a Cranberry and Malibu Rum on the beach. Also, this is the first time I’ve excitedly wanted something from Bath and Body Works since I was 12.

A Skateboard and a Cool Skater to Teach Me How
I’ve just always wanted to learn. I figure 28 is as young as I’ll ever be again, so let’s do this thing.
Also, I’m really glad I’m learning how to do this in an age when JNCOs are no longer cool or else I’d have to add “dental insurance” to this wishlist.

Nonjudgmental girl preferred.

A Pretty Pretty Necky Kayak

Long distance-style. Color optional. (Clear would be cool, too, actually!)

Still on the list, dude. Still wide open to receiving it. Still living in a place with tons of water. Just FYI.

If none of those things sound like the sort of thing you’re into, feel free to grab me a gift card to Whole Foods, Ten Thousand Villages, World Market, Adam and Eve (or AdamEve.com. And, yes, I know I work for Passion Parties, but PP doesn’t sell some of the stuff I like from A&E), Pin Up Girl Clothing or the Flying Biscuit. Or a domestic, round-trip plane ticket to NYC to see my sister. Any of the above, really. Do what’s right for you.

If you want to just drop the hint to my husband that I’d REALLY like to go out to Taverna in Raleigh for wonderful Greek food and then somewhere to see something awesome (like a stand-up comedian or a concert or an indie film) or do something awesome (karaoke, rodeo, night at a B&B, ice-skating, laser tag, ghost hunting, indoor skydiving), that’d be perfectly acceptable and, actually, more exciting than the invisible bookshelves. Again, I’m open to creativity.

Thank you again for your time and effort.

Most sincerely,
Liz

‘Pronoia’ p.271 #1: Have you ever had permission to indulge in a marathon of braggadocio? Have you ever gotten an invitation to bluster on endlessly about your own charms without feeling even a touch of guilt or inhibition? I hereby grant you such a license right now.

To whet you imagination, read an excert from the boast of Eric Baer, a participant in a Brag Therapy session hosted in Milwaukee. “I have opposable thumbs, ” Eric exulted. “I can read. I breathe all the way through the night even though I’m asleep. I have access to emporiums where I can choose from 25 different brands of toilet paper. I know how to turn food into energy. I live where knuckleheads run everything and yet nothing ever blows up.”

NOTE: I’ll be honest, it honestly took me a couple days to muster the gumption to do this exercise. But what the hell? You only live once. Here we go:

I sing rock songs done originally by men so well that I don’t have to pay a bar tab at most karaoke bars, and not just because I don’t drink alcohol. I put brown sugar in my tea which makes it more awesome than usual. I have the prettiest, healthiest, thickest hair of anyone I know - and the color is divine. I was curvy before it was trendy. I can say the alphabet backwards. I have hitchhiker’s thumbs. I have a soul and believe in helping people who can’t help themselves, which means that I may have to sacrifice some of my luxury to do so. Sometimes when I get on a roll I’m funny as shit. I can win debates with about 85% of people and I can level those people with calm, stealthy rhetoric. I’ve sampled more types of chocolate than most people my age. I have unbelievably dark and long lashes. I’ve rung up a $50 tab on sashimi all by myself. I can alternate reading the same 5 books and still remember where I was and what was happening in each of them. I believe in changing energies and the Law of Attraction and perform rituals to do so. I can do the best Ethel Merman impression you’ve ever heard. I can dance like a fiend. I only get about 4 zits every year. I can eat a whole gallon of chocolate ice cream in one sitting. I wrote my first piece of erotica at 12 years old. I can sing every song on Styx’s “Paradise Theatre” and “The Grand Illusion” albums by heart. I’m not allergic to ANYTHING. My child literally uses manners in her sleep because I rock at setting an example. I spoil my friends with presents, even when I can’t afford them. Actually, I love giving people things in general and have been known to make myself broke by making donations to charities, people, bums on the street, etc. I waited until I was totally ready to lose my virginity and, no, I don’t think I was too young and, no, I won’t be upset if my daughter loses hers at the same age. I’m more introspective and proactive about changing my dysfunctions than at least 70% of the rest of the people in the society in which I was raised. My nose piercing has looked the same since the minute it was done - no swelling, no infection, no redness, just adorableness. I’m the biggest ‘Sesame Street’ nerd I know. I have a fantastic alias/nom de plume. I totally pick up on social cues even though I choose to ignore a lot of them. I have five short stories I’ve been working on for a year now. My body magically knew to provide me with too much seratonin and dopamine during my pregnancy as a defense mechanism against my chronic depression. My eyes change color every day. I know how to spell. Every time that I’ve done something that someone else has perceived as psychotic, I’ve been fully aware that that was what was going to happen and I went ahead and did it anyway - sometimes just to freak people out. I’ve never ever cried to get myself out of a ticket. I look adorable in earmuffs, a furry hat, pincurls, dreadlocks, kitty-cat ears and 1950’s style A-line housedresses. I’ve had over 20 diaries and journals since I was 5 and I’ve kept all of them. I know exactly how to be annoying and I can cite the minute it happens with anyone I’m targeting. Oh yeah, and I annoy people I don’t like but have to be around because it’s totally fun and I’m thoroughly amused by it… and because I have to let my inner brat out from time to time. I pwned the 12 Steps and tools of therapy. I’m so irresistable I’ve had to put out not one but two restraining orders on people. I won a multiplication bee when I was in the 3rd grade and, because the teacher preemptively knew I’d win it, she bought me some Sherlock Holmes books ’cause she knew I loved reading them. I’m fully aware when I say things that make me look dysfunctional. I was the only one giggling when I saw both “Titanic” and “The Notebook” (I was dragged) in the theatre. Despite what my high school drama teacher (”facilitator”) said, I got my own paragraph-of-glowing-praise in the public reviews from the only two community theatre productions I’ve ever been in… and in one of those productions I didn’t even speak. I make ideal pancakes. I have over 40 mix tapes and CDs that were made by friends in the last ten years. Oh, and I make arguably better mix CD’s than most people. I saved at least $1,000 by buying all my textbooks from Amazon.com and teaching my family how to do the same. I work every day on self-betterment, even if I don’t have time for it. I didn’t marry an idiot. I have my own desk, my own computer, my own filing cabinet, my own Etsy store, my own three domains and my own two blogs. I get gifts from across the planet every year. I make the most artistically badass scrapbooks I’ve ever seen. I’ve played a 200 year old piano located at Juliette Gordon Low’s house after the tour guide said, “We only let one girl do this every year.” I’m so irresistable I’ve had not one, but three “stalkers” (crazy people who won’t leave me alone and keep calling/harassing me because they’re in love) and have had handfuls of people I’ve heard can’t/won’t/don’t stop talking about me even years after I’ve forgotten them. I live in North Carolina. I know a real enigma. I survived both jr. high and high school. I’m not a bigot. I’m a neo-feminist which means that I can enjoy baking, sewing, knitting, etc without feeling some sort of guilt that I’m backsliding or being a slave to societal patriarchy. I look awesome in red. I also look awesome with purple highlights in my hair. My guitar was given to me by a Grammy winner and Top 40 recording artist. My top half is two sizes smaller than my lower half. I can recite every line in “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” The Movie. I’m no longer envious of, threatened by or hateful to beautiful women (and not just because I’ve embraced the fact that they turn me on.) I have a Pick of Destiny. I get more excited about autumn than most [Christian] kids do about Christmas. I’ve never seen an episode of “The Hills”, “Laguna Beach” or “Jersey Shore”. I won/earned a Girl Scout Silver Award before anyone else in my troop did and I earned every Try-It that Brownie Girl Scouts could in the early 90’s. I’ve traveled abroad and have been to all but 15 of the United States. I’ve learned how to cut needy idiots out of my life once they’ve screwed up too many times instead of staying emotionally invested and draining myself for no reason. I stopped biting my fingernails. I have the cutest child on the planet who also happens to be polite, selfless, sociable and giggly. After years of apologizing and making amends for all those years I was a terrible, awful person, I’m finally in the clear and don’t owe anyone anything [for the moment]!!! I had the best wedding I’ve ever heard of in my entire life.

Last year, one of my friends told me: “All your fears are lies.” This is something I’ve believed for a while now but I’d never really thought of it in such a stripped-down, obvious concept: Yes! Those restraints holding me back in the form of tangible fear are fortress walls that simply do not exist. Not only do they not exist to anyone else, but they don’t exist to me, either. This is one of those things I repeat to myself daily.

However, there was a second level to the principle that my self-provided lies held me captive, that I recently discovered has been an even bigger contributor to/foundation of my general mentality and motivations for a couple decades now. And I don’t know if it necessarily applies to everyone, so I can’t make a grandeur universal statement about it like the one my friend brought to me. So instead I’ll just try to explain.

For no discernable reason whatsoever, I’ve always had this inexplicable habit of subconsciously assigning everyone I meet with a level of “Importance.” This doesn’t necessarily mean that they’re good people, it doesn’t mean that they’re intelligent people, hell, it doesn’t even mean that I like them. But, for whatever reason, in my mind, every person I come across gets placed on a scale of “Importance” and, from then on, I keep this status of them in my mind from then until forever, allowing them the appropriate level of respect or clout.

Okay, let me stop right now and explain profusely that I honestly don’t know where in hell this came from, why in the hell I do it, when exactly I started doing it, and what in the hell it all means. It could be a product of that inevitable/imperative time in adolescence when some alpha-dog bully wrangled power away from me and controlled my emotions, it could be based in some bizarre biological recognition of societal survivalism principles, or it could just mean that I’m a hypercognitive wackadoo. But, whatever the case, I’ve aaalways been one of those people who allotted a hierarchy to everyone in my immediate surroundings and adhered to these completely fabricated rulings as if everyone I knew was aware of and participating in this specific political structure as well.

[Though, to be observational for a second, I believe a lot of this exists/begins in superficial social situations like high school or Hollywood. For example, a bunch of people think So-And-So is pretty so everyone else goes along with that inherent belief even if they don't necessarily agree and she ends up winning Homecoming Queen every year or being invited to parties by people who don't even really enjoy her company, etc. (This isn't something I'm proud to say I relate to by any means, but I think it's about as close of a parallel as I can draw to what I'm talking about.)

But, outside of the aforementioned superficially-based environs, the best example of people having assigned others around them to a personal level of "Importance" to which they adhere is found in abusive relationships. Any man or woman who would abuse their partner is disgusting to begin with but there are so many times where a victim tolerates the abuse of someone who is nothing short of repulsive (in intelligence, appearance, competence, motivation, etc.) because they believe that person is "Important" or, at least, moreso than themselves. (I'm speaking in generalities here, although I have had enough friends prostrate themselves and take entirely too much abuse from hideous, uneducated, self-centered morons who would be attractive to nobody with objective taste for me to believe that this is more than a coincedence. But then, attractive, well-educated, self-aware men/women don't hate themselves enough to be abusive, so it's all cyclical, I guess... ANYWAY.)]

In hopes to find a remedy, I sat down a while ago and made a list of all the people who I’d subconsciously deemed as “Important” at any time in my life and noted how that invisible caste system had effected how I reacted to events in my relationships with them, how I thought about myself, how I made my decisions, etc. And once I’d gotten the obvious people out of the way, I started assessing every single person that I’d ever been in some personal relationship with (friends, family members, co-workers, professors, etc.) and was shocked when I realized just how screwed up my mentality had been for forever, it seemed. There were people who had the ability to make me feel unimportant or full of self-doubt who contained every single horrible trait that I loathed, and yet, they had remained on my subconscious “Important” list and I’d never stopped to think that maybe they didn’t belong there. Meanwhile, there were people who have never been anything but amazing to me and who go out of their way to love me and never say otherwise whose combined gestures of kindness couldn’t cancel out one gesture of one of the crappy people on the “Important” list in my fucked-up mindset. What the hell?!

Needless to say, I was pretty embarrassed. Especially because none of this was really news to me but, because I’d never looked at all of it objectively and admitted “I give people I don’t even like more sway on my emotions than people who actually respect me.”, I was willing to dive into drama with people I genuinely thought were gross wastes of time instead of doing anything else - including being with people who were awesome to be around… or just doing nothing by myself… again. Anything. Anything else. - just because I’d at some point deemed these people “Important”. For no valid reason. I was willing to shrug off my morals and dignity and time on people who just didn’t matter at all. And I’m not even talking about the Big false-”Important” people, but also about the more minor players of that category, like distant family members who made me feel insecure for the half hour I saw them annually or asshole former acquaintences who were mutual friends with one of my Facebook friends and would attempt to pick fights with me via “Status” commentary. The whole thing was just so stunted and backward, I felt like a naive 3rd grader who just realized that all adults don’t know everything.

So, in order to rewire my brain and reverse the current, I started over by making two new Lists. I know. I know it seems ridiculous and even more juvenile than the first subconscious “assignment system” but I figured I had to undo the procedure in an equally effective method. I literally spent a few hours going through every person I’d been in some form of contact with in the last 10-ish years and put them on a list of “Important to Me” and “Not Important to Me”. (The “to Me” part was included because I’m sure everyone is important to someone else. Just not to me. I can’t be a judge of their overall importance, you know?) I was pleased to find that the “Important to Me” list far outweighed the “Not Important to Me” list, but the few of those who were in the grey area received the benefit of the doubt and were put on the former of the lists. (Everyone’s “Important” until they prove otherwise to me. Everyone.)

I started to wonder if this categorization method, too, was unhealthy but then I realized that everyone has people who are more important to them than others. This doesn’t mean that everyone walks around and judges everyone else’s Importance (and it definitely doesn’t mean that everyone has a list sitting around of who’s “In” and who’s “Out”), just that everyone values each other differently. And I needed to work out my own personal economics for once without getting involved in everyone else’s exchange rates…

The funny thing is that when I sat and looked at the “Not Important to Me” list, I was shocked at how many of these people had not one appealing trait. Most of the people on the list sucked very very badly, but had at least one or two decent qualities to make me doubt their “Not Importance” from time to time. However, the handful of those who didn’t were just another glaring reiteration of the power of my personal agreements, especially evidenced in the way my mind automatically flipped completely over to “Yuck!” mode once I physically moved those names onto a “Not Important” list. Seriously, it was kind of bizarre. I’ve had this thing for a while that, when I find someone both annoying, intolerable and physically unappealing, I cannot make eye contact with them anymore. (I know. That is just an awful thing to say out loud. When I get to hell, I’ll get Kathy Griffin’s autograph for you.) I’ve done this my whole life, actually and it’s just something I can’t fix [or don't want to yet.] I can watch any sort of sick video you can whip out (I literally just watched a video of a girl having sex with a giant teddy bear before murdering it with a knife. Not kidding. -Thanks, Brody!) but put me in a room with someone I think thoroughly sucks and I’ll involuntarily cringe and look away the whole time. So, within a matter of a few hours, people I’d always deemed to be somehow worthy of persuasive powers and general attention became mentally unbearable once looked at objectionably. So it actually worked.

God, this whole thing reads as kind of nuts, but personally I wouldn’t have done it any other way as it’s seemed to work. And in the many months following this, I’ve made assessing the value of the people I choose to keep around me a regular practice, as I’ve chosen not to waste any more of my time on people who aren’t important to me. (Obviously, this doesn’t mean I’m not ever going to make any friends or give to charity ever again; again, I think everyone is “Important” until they prove otherwise. Isn’t that kind of a given, though?) And I am pleasantly surprised at how much better I feel in my daily life and in my relationships… although I’m still pretty embarrassed it took me this long to get to this step.

When am I going to start “getting” things when everyone else does? Why are common realizations so easy for other people but it takes me months of overzealous deliberation to understand the most basic social concepts or implement the most obvious habits? Is every Great Life Realization going to take this kind of mental defragging procedure for the rest of my life…

::shrug::

Schmeh. Better late than never.

Usually, I’m one of those positive-energy mongers, always pushing myself to keep the Big Picture in mind and seek out the good and/or humorous in everything. It’s been a very rewarding practice in the last couple years since I adopted it, actually, and is something I hope to pass along to my kid(s). However, in the last week or so since The Bad Thing descended on my psyche, I’ve felt like more things have begun to weigh on me. Even with my inherent Autumnal Excitement and the good things that are going on around me right now, I feel like my mind is going, “Wait! I just need an effing break from all this positivity. I’d like to look at some things objectively and note that they suck without having to think of a way to make them better or fix them or whatever. Just gimme a second.”

And, because I do believe in the Law of Attraction, I know that a lot of the negativity that’s cropping up has a lot to do with the negativity I’m wasting time thinking about and/or being frustrated over. So, while this Release of Complaints to the Universe could really go either way, I’m hoping that I’m just using this as a means to exorcise these thoughts from my consciousness. Perhaps I’ll counter this with a Counting of Blessings post. That actually sounds like a good way to recharge myself after the following Whineage Dump.

Lessgo:

~ I’ve become completely disillusioned with Facebook in a way that’s beginning to depress me. Admittedly this is mostly my fault for making my frequent visits a daily habit. I sort of justified posting pictures and commenting on people’s pics and stats to myself as me being able to stay in better touch with people I don’t get to see as often as I’d like. And for the most part that’s pretty true.

The thing is, I have 630+ “friends” on there, all of whom I know by name and have had real actual conversations with in real life. (And only one of them is an ex boyfriend!) At first, it’s really a lot of fun to pull a High School Reunion and go look through photo albums to see how one’s 2nd-grade crush has turned out or find out if the prom queen got fat and any of that other stuff that keep people returning to reunions with people from adolescence. (Thus the reason that h.s. reunion attendence has declined in the last couple years.) But after that you just kind of find yourself hanging on to these electronic connections between these people for the sake of manners or some other new internet etiquette bullshit for absolutely no reason. After a while it becomes apparent that laughing at how that middle school bully turned into a fat, ignorant, racist drunk just isn’t as much fun or validating as it used to be and that the only thing that connection succeeds in doing is reminding you why you hated him so much in the first place. Sure, there are instances where I’ve been able to forge new connections with people I wasn’t necessarily friends with in high school and I’ve even been able to have really intellectual conversations with those types of people that have broadened my thinking and challenged my beliefs. But really, who cares? If we all really wanted to be involved in each others’ current lives, wouldn’t we make it a point to do so? We can share internet memes and funny websites with each other via email, we can pick up the phone and call people who live out of town, we can organize parties and arrange reunions without the use of a formal “Event.” Hell, we can even go about our daily activities without requiring commentary from everyone we know.

And before we start weighing in on my inherent hypocrisy, I realize that I’ve bought into the hype as well. I syndicate this blog through my profile and post recent pictures of funny things that I’ve seen or experienced and send friends links to hilarious new websites and take meaningless quizzes about what sort of famous person I’m supposed to be an embodiment of. Like a lot of people, it’s become a bit of a lifestyle if not only a habit. I check it when I get bored, I kill time by commenting on other people’s ramblings. But after a while, it all just seems like perpetuating our own desperate need to be noticed and recognized (much like, say, a blog) where we’re throwing every detail of our lives into a public forum in hopes to prove that we’re still alive! And existing! Look! Here are pictures of me with other friends hanging out in real life!

And the truth of the matter - and the thing that makes me the most depressed - is that it’s apparent that Facebook is sort of like living in a small town; while there are people who are genuinely exciting to be around and may find you exciting to be around as well, mostly there are just a bunch of people you don’t particularly wandering around believing in the great myth of themselves and living in this state of circular nothingness that’s not exciting enough to warrant even an hour’s worth of conversation, let alone constantly updated spot on a News Feed. Same people. Doing the same shit. With the same other people. This time via the Internet.

Aside from the fact that the whole system is kind of boring and trite, I’ve become bothered with my need to participate in this as often as I do and even more bothered by the realization that I can’t just cut myself off from it just yet. I think this may be a weaning, trimming-of-the-fat situation in which I whittle down my friend base to just the people I care enough about to keep in touch with in the Grand Scheme. And then there is the adjusting-of-the-frequency-of-my-visits. I wonder how much I could get done in my day if I didn’t stop by Facebook so often to reply to someone’s commentary or share a funny link with everyone I know. I wonder if I could do everything on my To Do List in a realistic amount of time and I wonder how far I could go about developing this Great Image I have for myself and my life.

I feel like in anyone’s life there are ways to create distractions from our higher purpose and even if I get rid of the habit of Facebook, there will always be something that will invite me to slack off and divert my attention. But I also think that this is a major thing that is also draining a bit of me personally. I gotta do something about that.

~ My haaaaair. It’s not really as awful as I make it sound and, after scrubbing it with Dawn detergent and superduper dandruff shampoo, it’s getting better but it’s still not what I wanted. I hate wasting an autumn on a mediocre hair color.

~ I think I’m going to have to ditch some friends. This is always hard for me because of my weird thank-you-for-noticing-me mentality I developed in jr. high in which I just feel honored that anyone is taking note of me at all (I really should start growing out of that. I’ve had enough therapy. It’s time.) and I should be lucky to have friends at all, so I don’t want to run the few I have off. And really, in the last three years I’ve become much much better at cutting off people who like to perpetuate self-loathing insanity and the resulting drag-everyone-into-it drama that inevitably ensues. (These are the people for whom I used to prepare arguments to defend my reasoning and give them a respectful “This is why I’m cutting you off” speech -complete with bulleted points and relevant examples - only to have them completely disregard it or not get any of it at all. Now there’s just a personal severance.)

The problem at the moment is that the [useta-be] friends I’m having to cut off at the moment hit a little closer to home. I’ve not always been a good friend to a lot (a lot) of people that I consider my friends and I’m incredibly lucky to have received love and forgiveness from many of them, but these days I work really hard on being selfless and giving and nurturing and attentive and all that. I really do. And, again, I’m incredibly lucky to have a handful of really good friends who give me the same - or moreso - in return. (Some of these friends I haven’t even met in person. I know that sounds weird but I’ve had a small group of old message board buddies that I’ve known for about 5 years who have been amazing to me.) But I have a few friends who have been very Take-Take here recently and I think it’s about time I pulled the plug on it. And I’m not the type to just give up on someone but if it’s been a couple years and I’m not getting anywhere and they’re not “getting it” then I don’t really feel bad at all. In fact, with one of the friends I’m shocked at how apathetic I feel about the whole thing.

I am severely, noticeably awkward.
And not in a way I know how to classify.

A lot of people say that about themselves, mostly because “awkward” has somewhat become a trendy form of humor these days like in “The Office” with the painfully social ineptitude of those characters or the bumbling awkwardness of Lemon on “30 Rock.” In this new post-technological society where nerds are ruling the world, “awkward” has suddenly become a mainstream form of “genius” entertainment, bringing back styles similar to those created by Andy Kaufman.

There’s the cool awkward where a cute girl is klutzy or emotionally crippled in some adorable, faux-needy way.
I’m not that.

Then there’s the “nerd” awkward where the social ineptitude leaks over from adolescence into the real world and LARPers and Trekkies still think it’s important to violently argue about Asimov’s theories. (By the way, it’s weird how geeks across the planet have the same awkward speech cadences and ticks, or how they have identical gestures or facial quirks… it’s like a gene.)

That’s not me, either.

There’s the random-humor-and-obscure-loser-reference awkward that Andy Samberg and the Lonely Island guys like to play with.

Not me.

And then the painfully-insecure-overcompensating-Michael-Scott-epic-fail type of awkward.

Ehh… Used to be me. Then I stopped drinking, so not so much anymore.

And there are countless other subcategories that aren’t really publicly illustrated but are definitely noticeable to the average person. There’s the fat-girl-lost-a-lot-of-weight-and-doesn’t-know-she’s-hot-so-still-acting-self-loathing-and-sell-outty awkward. There’s the 40-year-old-math-teacher-divorcee-trying-to-reclaim-her-youth awkward. There’s obligatory-creepy-lecherous-perv awkward. There’s the-gay-guy-trying-to-cling-onto-the-coatrack-in-the-closet-even-though-everyone-KNOWS awkward. The list could go on forever.

Again, none of these are my type of awkward.

I’ve known about my type of awkward since I was little and started listening to my deeper-than-everyone voice on my parents’ tape recorder. I noticed that my cheeks encompassed a majority of my face and the corners of my mouth stick together when I’m talking, which has caused more than one person to remark, “You remind me a lot of Melissa Joan Hart.” (…awesome…) My nose spreads endlessly across my face like a tribute to Bill Cosby, my arms have always looked like turkey legs even at the peak of my weight-training regimen, I have more facial hair than anyone who isn’t Italian should legally have and for whatever reason, I’ve always been at the very least a leeeetle heavier than my doctor says I should be.

And that’s just the physical stuff. I literally can’t leave any social situation without having at least one moment I look back on and think, “Why in the hell did I do/say/wear that?! What the eff is wrong with me!?” Fortunately, these actions are never part of a major disagreement or conflict (God blesses me with good judgment and the ability to only say what I mean during those moments) but the other 96% of my life is fair game for my social uselessness. Actually, the only place I don’t immediately flinch at my actions in retrospect is in text and I accredit that to my ability to edit. This same questioning-of-actions is constant and is heightened when I revisit old performances or photos or memories of defunct relationships or any era when I was really reeeeaally dysfunctional and/or inebriated. Suffice to say, there’s a lot of forehead slapping involved in my self-analysis.

And honestly? Yes, I am always amazed that I’m able to have/keep better-than-amazing friends and even more amazed that I’ve ever been able to trick anyone into finding me attractive. That’s the truth.

Don’t get me wrong here. When I say that I’m awkward, this is not me being self-depreciative or loathing, if you can believe that. I’m not saying I’m socially inept or incapable of any sort of productive, enjoyable existence. And I’m definitely not saying that I don’t have any redeeming qualities about myself, physically or otherwise. I’m really just saying that even after spending years upon years watching myself and finding that, even after years of therapy and tankerloads of introspection, the Awkward is the one thing that remains constant. It’s mine to keep, apparently.

The problem with having recognized my awkwardness is that, unlike performers like Rachel Dratch or Chris Farley who seized their awkwardness and entertained the masses with it, I have no idea how to make any of my Awkward appealing or humorous… or if it’s even possible. At all.

Even though I worked a lot of the “Who am I?”s and the “What the hell is going on with me?”s out in my younger years, I’ve come to realize that I still waste a LOT of time grappling with this ongoing resistance to the ultimate notion that I’m a bit left of center. I still play dress up and take pictures of myself to try to convince myself that I’m extraordinarily attractive when really, even the one usable photo out of every 200 that I take is only satisfactory. I still fling as much of myself “out there” as I possibly can even if I have absolutely nothing informed or relevant to bring to any table at which I may be aiming. I recognize that I did a lot more of that in my adolescence, which is really strange considering how much I haaated myself. You would think that someone who was completely convinced she was a hideous moron would hide under a rock but for some reason, I still enjoyed being a bit rogue and outspoken when I could… I know; it doesn’t make any sense to me, either.

Now, though, I don’t have all the disgust and hate for myself that trails around with me through all my actions, so I’m really just looking at myself objectively. I’m awkward, not ever going to fit into some battleax role, nor am I ever going to be a lusty object of desire. And, despite all my flailing idiocy, I’m 99.9% sure that I’m always going to slide into average obscurity with the rest of the masses. That’s just how it is and I’ve become happy with that. (And yes, for the record, I do blame this celebrity-crazed society of ours for trying to convince everyone that if they aren’t wildly famous or publicly lauded then they aren’t worthwhile. It’s all lies that I’m happy to avoid.)

However, the underlying question that keeps nagging at me after all these conclusions is simply “Where the hell does that put me?”

What does my type of Awkward qualify me for? Where would my Awkward be best utilized? How can I get that to work for me? How do I even start figuring all that out?

What I Should’ve Said: A Collection of Unsent Letters
by Castallare

Table of Contents

I.
Everything I Needed to Know NOT to Do, I Learned From You Idiots.

II.
Pathologically Lying about Trivial, Unimportant Things Makes You Look Certifiably Crazy
or - By the Way, We’re Onto You.

III.
Is There Any Stereotype of Ignorant White Trash You Don’t Fit?
or - Stories About Your Family’s Tasteless Antics Will Fit Nicely Into My Novels

IV.
Your Beliefs are All Oxymoronic and You Sound Like an Imbecile Proclaiming Them Constantly

V.
If I Had a Dollar For Every Time I’ve Wanted to Tell You to Grow Up and Stop Whining All The Damned Time, I Could Afford a Mansion of Roman Proportions. Literally.
or - Yes, People Really Are Avoiding You On Purpose
or - Diplomacy and Class Have Kept Me From Ripping Your Face Off and Making You Cry

VI.
You’re Evidence That There Are People Without Souls
… So There’s No Need For You To Worry About The Afterlife

VII.
One Day You’ll Pay Money To Watch Lesbians in Action
… So Making Fun of Them Now Kind Of Makes You Look Stupid

VIII.
You’re a Jealous Coward
… But Because I Love You, I’m Not Mad At You Anymore

IX.
I Get Why You Drink But You’d Be Better Off Just Leaving
or - Tell Me Again Why You Married This Guy?

X.
How Did You Become Such a Materialistic Bitch?
or - Wow, That Didn’t Take Long at All.

XI.
No, I Don’t Give a Shit How Much Money You Have: Rich or Not, You Still Suck
or - Having a Giant House Won’t Save Your Soul

XII.
Everyone Who Matters Is Seriously Over You
or - How Come You Didn’t Turn Out As Cool As Everyone Else?