On a Sunday Afternoon

Technically it’s not afternoon yet, but I am a writer so I am familiar with lying. Just kidding. I’m familiar with lying because I’m a liar.

Writing is hard. I am sure nobody has ever said that before. Because I am a writer I try to avoid being cliche (sorry I can’t figure out where to find accent marks) and/or stealing other people’s words or ideas.

Before I can move forward in this current book, which is about drugs and emotional numbing, which a thing I am very NOT familiar with (the emotional numbing, I mean. Not familiar. But also drugs. I am not familiar with drugs. Except for that one period in time when I used to save Percocet for a rainy day and by rainy day I mean cramps), I have to decide if the sister lives or dies and I realized that in my last book there is a dead sister and why is this a theme for me?

I am pretty sure it has to do with the fact that I am 99% convinced that I am a twin and my mother refuses to tell me the truth about it. I’ve asked her multiple times. But here’s the thing – other than the fact I’m not totally convinced she’s not out there somewhere – I have a friend who is a twin and she was born a year before me and her mom didn’t know. She was having her baby and then they were like, “surprise, there’s another one!” So maybe my mother didn’t give birth to two babies, but maybe at some point there WERE two babies and I ate the other one in the womb. This would absolutely set the precedent by which I have lived the rest of my life out of the womb. Emotional eating. Maybe there was some trauma and I was like, “I know, I will just eat my twin.”

This may also by why I’m a little obsessed with cannibalism? Also a thing I am not entirely convinced didn’t happen in my family, as my grandmother was in the Ukraine during the famine and I read an article in the New York Times about a family who sent their daughter off to dinner at another home where they were having “something special” and the “something special” ended up being the daughter. They found her clothes in the woods near the village and my grandmother lived in a village near the woods. I’ve talked about this before, but it’s just because I think about it so much. It also entirely possible that they didn’t actually eat the daughter but just brutally murdered her.

I think I’m gonna let the sister live.

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I’m sitting in the kitchen at my new job eating a lunch I made all by myself. The lunch involves a pita and an apple and an avocado. I know, right? I could be a chef (in a raw food restaurant). Any time I spend more than five minutes in the kitchen, I think of my dad, who actually was a chef. He was such a chef that he had a huge scar on his foot where he spilled boiling oil. I mostly remember it because it was the only part of him that didn’t tan. Just this huge patch of skin that never changed. He said he used to cook barefoot, which seems unsanitary. But I don’t know if he meant that in the restaurants or just like at home in general because I am barefoot 99% of the time I am in the kitchen and also just at home. I hate shoes  so much. Who decided that we needed shoes? I mean, I like not getting diseases from stepping on stuff outside but I assume I’d eventually grow immune.

Anyway, my dad never actually cooked at home, which I guess makes sense. Why do at home what you do all day? Except he didn’t always have a job so he didn’t do it all day. What a waste of culinary school. The only thing he taught me about cooking was how to chop vegetables so I didn’t chop off my fingers. And I am pleased to announce that to this day I have not chopped off any fingers. Also when I was little he would impress me by making roses out of tomatoes and a basket out of a watermelon. So maybe culinary school wasn’t a COMPLETE waste. He also catered his own wedding. But the only thing I remember is the watermelon basket. I’m pretty sure there was other food but who even cares, you know.

I was six when he and my mom married. I was a flower girl. The morning of the wedding I said I didn’t want to do it. They thought they were threatening me when they said they’d get my cousin to do it instead, but I called their bluff by telling them that would be fine. (They made me do it, in the end.) That may have been the very moment I decided that if I ever got married I would elope.

Always This Ridiculous Obsession with Love

I am back! Back again! “Don’t call it a comeback, I’ve been here for years, I’m rocking my peers….”
Hi. Hello. Been a while. Here is a blog post about Moulin Rouge, one of my top five favorite movies.
Fun fact – I recently had a big breakthrough in therapy (you may congratulate me if you wish, I will accept), and I went back through old journals to find evidence of this thing I broke through on and I found an entry where I talked about my first time watching Moulin Rouge and I said, “I never had any desire to watch this movie, but I ended up loving it!” This was in college. I apparently watched it at my friend Ian’s house. I HAVE NO RECOLLECTION OF ANY OF THIS. This is why you keep journals kids. Anyway, I never did find the thing I was looking for in those journals, but the thing I was looking for would have been way before college journals and to be honest, college me was a DRAG and I got bored. 
ANYWAY. so this summer, August, two months-ish from now, Rachael and I will be traveling to Boston to see Moulin Rouge the STAGE MUSICAL. Moulin Rouge in REAL LIFE. With BEAUTIFUL people in the REAL, LIVE roles! I mean, they are all probably very beautiful, but I am only focused on the one very beautiful person who will bring the beautiful Christian to life, and I am speaking of Aaron Tveit, star of stage and screen, *my* Danny Zuko, and the future Mr. Orsini. None of this is the point of this blog post!
I have been carpooling to work with a co-worker and yesterday in the car Elton John’s “Your Song” came on and I very excitedly told her about this trip to Boston to see Moulin Rouge and she said, “I’VE NEVER SEEN THAT MOVIE.” (emphasis mine because I mean WHAT.) She said she gets very stressed out during movies and can’t watch most of them. She asked if someone died in the movie and I said yes. She said, “like..in a car wreck or something?” She knows NOTHING about this movie! “No!” I said, in a very condescending manner. “Like, from COUGHING. She has CONSUMPTION.” 
Fortunately, I found a new job and only have seven more days of carpooling with this MONSTER. 
My top five favorite movies are:
1. Amelie
2. Moulin Rouge
3. The Wizard of Oz
As it turns out, I only have three top favorite movies. That is something I learned just this minute while making this list. I mean, I know there are other *favorites* but they change constantly. These three are forever. And you know it’s serious because I have some pretty intense committment issues and can’t even commit to a favorite color. Is it blue? Sometimes! Green? Also sometimes! It all depends on the shade! But sometimes I’m more green than blue and vice versa and SOMETIMES, I don’t like either of them! I don’t know myself AT ALL, which is something I’ve been working on. It’s been quite the journey, to be honest. I am both not nearly as interesting as I thought I was but also way more interesting than I thought I was. I AM VERY COMPLICATED. 
I hope the future Mr. Orsini likes puzzles because lol I am one. 
lol. 
I’m going through some stuff. 
Okay, and now I will go back to writing my Moulin Rouge-inspired novel about drugs and conjoined twins! Probably. Writing is VERY hard. Just fyi.

I Don’t Wanna Wait (for my life to be over…(sing it with me))

I am not a patient person. I don’t like waiting for things, working for things, learning things. Even before the era of instant gratification I demanded instant gratification.

When I was learning to tie my shoes I threw a fit, stormed out of the room, and declared I’d wear velcro for the rest of my life. (I eventually learned to tie my shoes.)

When I was learning to ride a bike, I gave up and said I’d just not ride a bike. Who needed a bike. (I eventually learned to ride a bike.)

When I was learning to drive, I made a stupid mistake. Nobody was hurt, and maybe one person beeped at me. It was small. Stupid. When I pulled into the driveway I burst into tears and said I didn’t need to drive if I had friends who could drive. (Okay, so it took me six years to finally get my license, but that is for a totally different reason.)

On top of this impatience is a need to get things right. I want it to happen now, and I want it to be perfect. I had trouble with math so I gave up on math and subsequently had even more trouble with math. I had trouble with science so I gave up on science and subsequently had even more trouble with science. Because that’s how things work. You have to keep trying. But I’d rather fail spectacularly than pass only…mediocrely. (Is that a word? I’m too impatient to read all the links debating it.)

When I finally did take my driver’s test, I hit the curb during the parallel parking, so I hit the curb three more times just to fail the test. Fail spectacularly.

I am currently waiting on multiple things and I can’t really talk about any of them. They are taking forever. While I’m waiting I am going over all the ways I could have made a mistake and it takes everything I have not to go back to all the people holding the things I’m waiting on and say, “wait! wait. Let me try again. I’ll get it right.” Because if they don’t respond positively immediately, I obviously did something wrong and if I take it back then the waiting is in my control. By which I mean, I won’t be waiting at all. See, if you try nothing you are never waiting and this is the motto by which I live my life. Except for right now. When I’m waiting on literally everything.

Anyway, the point of this, is that waiting is the worst and I want it now and basically I am a hero.

Thank you.

let’s complain about snow (again)

We haven’t had any snow here yet, but I have a bad feeling about this winter. So I’m shopping for boots and I’ve never been so mad about anything in my life. I recently realized that in all 34 years of my life I’ve never been *angry*. I’ve been happy and sad and frustrated and annoyed. But never angry. Snow makes me as close to angry as I’ve ever been.

When I still lived in Pennsylvania, I owned snow boots. I have hated snow boots since I was in elementary school. My parents would make me wear them, but I would put my regular shoes back on before I actually got outside so that nobody would see them. My dad caught me, because of course he did, I was a child and didn’t know enough to wait until I at least got to the corner, out of sight of our apartment. As a kid I was often grounded for stupid things, like being late for dinner and changing out of my snow boots. They said it was so I would learn things like being late makes them worry and not wearing snow boots means I’ll get pneumonia and die. (emphasis on death is mine.) I did not learn that. I only bought snow boots as an adult in Pennsylvania because I walked to work and it snowed a lot and I also have a habit of falling while walking in snow. Like, a lot. Like at least five times each season.

So anyway, before I moved to Virginia I got rid of my snow boots. I was moving south! I wouldn’t need them! They only get big snow storms like once every ten years! In January I will have been here eleven years and we’ve had at least three huge snow storms that have resulted in the city shutting down and me being trapped in my house and then having to shovel snow that was half as high as me and I am close to being almost the same height as an average adult woman.

These four storms do not include other minor storms that also required shoveling. And for the past ten years, when I needed to shovel, I wore tennis shoes and then my socks got wet and my feet got cold and while I did not get pneumonia and die, I did get very sad about my wet, cold feet. And so now, as we enter my eleventh winter here, I am buying boots. Is this adulthood? Have I finally reached it?

To be clear, I am not actually buying snow boots. They are ugly and make me sad and very close to angry. But I am buying waterproof boots that are only mildly hideous. The other thing about boots is that they go over my ankles and shoes that go over my ankles make me feel very trapped and as with when snow shuts down the city I do not like being trapped. I could never have been a Victorian women, for the need to free my ankles is far too great.

It’s the last business day of 2017. I understand, intellectually, how and why the year changes, but it still makes no sense. I guess that’s why my favorite New Year’s Eve activity is going to bed at 11pm in the current year and waking up in the new year. But usually, like this year, I will go out, wish everyone a happy new year at 12am, leave at 12:02am and go to bed and wake up in a new year. It just doesn’t have the same effect. Let’s make new year’s eve parties slumber parties where we all go to bed at 11pm, then wake up and have waffles and mimosas. I have amazing ideas. When your party hosts ask you to bring a sleeping bag next year, please remember that you heard it here first.

It’s time to press “buy” on these boots and drown my sorrows in more coffee. Until 2018, my friends.

Another Year Over, A New One Just Begun (almost)

Now this is the story all about how I forgot I had a blog and then remembered and then butchered some song lyrics.

It’s true. I forgot. And my loyal readers have been neglected (all two of you…one of whom is me). But no longer! Here I am! Declaring that I have no idea what to say but don’t want you to forget me. I don’t like to be forgotten. I like people to check in at least once a day to let me know they are alive and in doing so reminding me that they remember and love me. I actually don’t care if they’re alive. This is about me.

I know three people who have been to Disney in the past month and yet I still do not own light-up Minnie Mouse ears. That’s just something I’ve been thinking about in relation to people proving their love.

Listen, it’s the holiday season and it’s winter and I just need a lot of validation right now, okay? VALIDATE ME.

Here are some things I’ve loved in 2017 in no particular order:

The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel – it almost makes me want to try Gilmore Girls again, that’s how good it is. You can find it on Amazon Prime. And you should. It’s all about a funny woman coming into her own despite her deadbeat husband, so I relate a lot. Minus the deadbeat husband and being funny and doing stand-up because I need validation but I will NEVER step on a stage to get it, omg.

The new Taylor Swift album, which I didn’t WANT to like. I tried so hard. But I can’t help it. It’s so good. Like, maybe the best? I still wish the old Taylor were alive, but I guess new Taylor is fine.

Anyway, those two things came out in November and that’s as far back as I can remember. I’m pretty sure I liked things before that. What else happened this year? This has been the shortest but also longest year of my life.

My boss’s son is doing a project on how time changes as you age. He’s asking people of all ages to sit in a room one at a time and guess when it’s been a minute. I did not volunteer because I 100% know that I will sit in that room and count the seconds in order to be as close to one minute as possible. Time may change as I age, but that doesn’t mean I have to be wrong about it. Being wrong is almost as bad as being forgotten. People wonder why I’m so quiet in real life and that is why. What if I misquote a fact or what if I’m ignored? Also people terrify me, but if anybody asks it’s mostly that other stuff.

Okay, now I have remembered you, and now it’s your turn to remember me. I love you. Happy holidays. Happy New Year. Don’t drink and drive. Also don’t text and drive. Basically don’t do anything other than drive when you are driving because the truth is I actually DO care whether or not you’re alive and I prefer alive.

xo

Willy Wonka and the Freak Factory

I don’t know why, but I’ve been thinking about this movie/book a lot. I think I saw a picture of Gene Wilder? Who knows why thoughts appear, they just do. Also it’s maybe because my friend and I (hi, Nicole) are trying to think of a project and I’m remembering how we met. Our other friend Megan said, “do you guys know each other? Because you should.” She had no idea what she was creating. Then we bonded over a buzzfeed quiz about which character you would be from Willy Wonka. We both got Grandpa Joe and Grandpa Joe is such a bitch. He’s super lazy, won’t help bring in money for his extremely poor family, and then when he gets the golden ticket he’s like, “check this somersault, d-bags, I’m getting chocolate.” I mean, it is very clear WHY I got that result, but I was still mad about it.

If I were to answer for us, I would think Nicole would get the fat German kid. She eats A LOT of candy and definitely would have fallen in the chocolate river. I would assume I’d get Veruca Salt because I am very difficult to be around.

Anyway, so where this train of thought was going was I wonder if the other kids in the story made it out alive or if they died. At the end, Wonka hands the factory over to Charlie and he’s like, “peace, I’m out.” Do you think Charlie said, “oh, let them go, it was all harmless fun!” Or do you think he said, “okay, that one can suffocate in that tube, she can burn in the incinerator, he can stay in that television.” I feel like he probably had a lot of rage for the fact that they made difficult what could have been a very easy tour of a candy factory. He would have let Violet out because she would get a TLC show. The Giant Blueberry Girl and Her Trip to a Chocolate Factory. It would give Charlie publicity, and any publicity is good publicity. People would line up for miles to get in because people like a lot of things that aren’t good for them. Have you ever heard of cigarettes?

I learned that cigarettes are bad from watching Mad Men. Everything I need to know about life I learned from television. Like that it never rains in California because I don’t remember it raining on 90210 and Dylan McKay would never lie to me.

Anyway, I am pretty sure those other kids are dead, even though we are completely ignoring the fact that Charlie also partook of some product and that fizzy cola scene is 100% of the reason I hate that movie. It’s a stupid scene! Don’t at me. I am firm in this stance. Also ignoring the fact that Roald Dahl was likely a Nazi sympathizer and ISN’T IT STRANGE that the winner of the factory is the blond-haired blue-eyed boy. HMMMM.

Disclaimer: I have never read the book.

One time when I was googling Roald Dahl and Nazi sympathizing, because I always want to be thorough before I start saying stuff (lol, no, I’ll say anything), I came across the greatest quote about any human ever:

“Even from his earliest days, he was a hateful little fuck.”

I didn’t click the link so I don’t know who said it or if it is in fact accurate, but as I said, I’ll say anything and I love that and want to say it about everyone I know. Sorry everyone I know. No hard feelings.