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Resolutions

December 31, 2008

I’ve never made a serious New Years resolution mainly because I’ve convinced myself that a year in my life is too all over the place, so unpredictable in terms of the jobs I’ll have or the places I’ll live or how much more money the dog will expel from the pockets of my holey sweatpants, compelling me to walk into my boyfriend’s kitchen and announce to his mother I SHOULD’VE JUST HAD A BABY.

Derrick and I split up for the eighth or ninetieth time around the beginning of January this year, and by February I’d unexpectedly dropped twelve or so pounds. Not surprisingly, I wasn’t especially thrilled by anything, but I did manage to fit into a pair of Paper Denim jeans that my mom found at a discount store and, in buying, proved she lost track of my thighs somewhere around high school. When I tried to slip, nay, wrench them up towards my waist, I asked her if there was a corset included with this purchase and if so could we break my ribs quickly so as not to miss the parlor games?

I never returned them, but the second I tried them on again, and they fit, I looked around the room at no one, thinking are you kidding me? I have to call Derrick and tell him about this.

I’ve since gained that weight back, and even though breaking even is probably better than adding a few more to that twelvish, I truly feel like crap.

My focus is withering.
I have insane headaches.
When I walk in public, I feel my ass moving in such a way that I fully expect a chorus of scratchy-voiced rappers to chant out from the bushes NOW LET ME SEE YOUR HIPS SWING.

I’d like to feel better in 2009, with or without Paper Denim. This year went by so quickly, I’ve barely had time to reflect on the new one coming, so overall, I’m hoping it allows not only the realization of everyone’s goals, but moments of ease and happiness despite the outcomes. Happy New Year.

Categories: Daily, Derrick, Holidays | 32 Comments »

Room with a view

December 27, 2008

Talking about weather is something I sort of resort to once the awkward silence has gone on a little too long, so I guess it would be an appropriate time to mention that it’s two days after Christmas and my windows are open.

A couple of my close friends have thoughtfully adapted their Christmas text messages from I hope you had a very merry Christmas to dude, did you survive? and I will say that this was one of my favorite holidays yet. Aside from Christmas Eve, when I was making the first of many rounds to visit family and it started to pour, and my windshield wiper snapped somehow, and every swipe was Russian roulette with a blade that spun like a baton mid-twirl, everything was wonderful and I had many reasons to be grateful.

I won’t go on about presents, but one of my gifts from Derrick was a coat, a warm coat, the first of which I’ve had in years. I’m used to throwing on a hoodie or the paper-thin peacoat I got last winter for $18 at Forever 21, which is almost always tolerable save for the four minutes in my car before the heat kicks in. I was immediately excited to wear it as frequently as possible but, wouldn’t you know it, it’s SIXTY-EIGHT DEGREES IN DECEMBER.

Categories: Daily, Derrick, Family, Holidays | 22 Comments »

Happy I missed you

December 20, 2008

I was lying around today watching Titanic and pondering how mush my mind has become, because for some reason, when I first saw that movie (5th grade?) I was all, ugh, Leo is such an icky pretty boy, and now I’m all, GOD give him to me.

Maybe because I’m finally close enough to the age he’s supposed to be in the movie?

Now that I think about it, no, I’m pretty sure he played a 20-year-old. Am I over two years older than Jack Dawson?

This is why I can’t get myself out of bed anymore.

I wrote once before about how I came across an old etiquette book during my sophomore year of college. In reality, I don’t know why I don’t just come right out and say things — things like, once, I was dating this boy during my sophomore year of college and saw an old etiquette book in his room that he got from working at the library and I stole it.

I’ve never actually sat down and read the thing, but I still love flipping through and making note of the good ones.

From Etiquette by Post, 1922:

On Phrases Avoided in Good Society: “A girl may be lovely to look at as she stands in a seemingly unstudied position and in perfect clothes. But let her say ‘Gee, it looks swell!’ and where is her loveliness then?”

On Courtship: “It is the immediate duty of the man to go to the girl’s father and ask his consent. If her father refuses, the engagement cannot exist.”

On Sharing with your Girlfriend: “It is perfectly suitable for her to drive his car, or ride his horse, but, if she would keep her self-respect, the car must not become hers nor must she use his furniture until she is given his name.”

On Divorce: “Divorce is too serious a subject to be more than barely mentioned in such a book as this.” Also, “The strict rules of etiquette demand that the divorced meet as total, and unspeaking, strangers.”

On Travel: “A ‘lady’ who has not enough money to travel properly with a maid should stay at home.”

On Parties: “What makes a brilliant party? Clothes. Good clothes. A frumpy party is nothing more or less than a collection of badly dressed persons.”

Categories: Daily | 11 Comments »

Grief. Literally. Grief.

December 12, 2008

Listen — you’re about to take an icy plunge into an ocean of feelings, feelings, so consider this a toe-dunk of a warning because damn it’s gonna be cold.

I make it no secret that I’m not a fan of the holiday season. This, in a very small way, has to do with the stress of Christmas and the city going grayscale, but it’s mainly because of the sense of dread I begin feeling around the middle of fall, an anxiety that never fails to surface because since I was fifteen, it’s had a reason to.

The first funeral I can remember attending occurred during my first year of high school. It was for a childhood friend who had just turned sixteen and was killed on his way to a basketball game when his teammate, who was driving, swerved to avoid a car that slid backwards down an icy driveway and hit a tree. Growing up, his mother was the kind of person that kids always flocked to, grabbing for her hands and vying for her attention because she was always pretty, smiling, and speaking with a soft voice that matched her mannerisms, which was the one thing I had always associated with her.

For some reason, on our way to the church that day, I expected to see her as I always had, in a light-colored dress with pedicured toes and straight blond hair, maybe blotting a handkerchief to her eyes and tearfully accepting condolences from the congregation. As I stood with the rest of his friends in the choir loft overlooking the aisle, she was ushered in, knees buckled and feet dragging, her weight supported completely by her husband. Her wailing sounded as if she was deeply and loudly gulping for air. I was depressed for months.

Over time, and with every winter, it’s been another funeral, and every year, I’ve become less and less mournful, and when my ex-boyfriend committed suicide during the fall semester of my sophomore year of college, it was as if my emotions completely surrendered to the grieving. Every part of me was repeating enough is enough, but I was becoming numb to the heartache.

I was at a funeral this week for a young family member who was suddenly and brutally killed, and after Derrick took me and my mother, sister, and aunt to all of the services, he said he’d never witnessed people crying out in pain so unabashedly, and I agreed with him even though I had. Someone else wondered aloud why this kept happening to our family, and I wanted so much to mourn, to be hunched over in anguish, but I couldn’t, and it was the worst I’ve ever felt in my life.

And I guess that the reason for all of this is to try and figure out why I have so much trouble writing (or talking) about it. After what happened that second year of college, when I skipped at least a week’s worth of classes and would drive an hour or so to Pittsburgh every night to sit with his mother and not say anything, I would spend a little time reading blogs and being so bitter that people were going on with their lives. But even more so, I was infuriated when people complained.

Before all this, I told myself that writing about the bad things going on in my life would make me feel better. I reasoned that people would be understanding, even if they were going through something worse, but then there I was, annoyed by others’ varying degrees of sadness, because in my mind, it was all nothing compared to what I was going through. How self-centered is that?

I was ready to sit down on Monday and produce some diatribe against religion and “God’s plan” and how I couldn’t understand how good people could be so screwed over. Maybe an excuse for why I tend to leave out all things unhappy is that publishing something so terrible would somehow make it seem less substantial than it really is, or maybe because inferring that I’ve been to way too many funerals will increase the likelihood of me continuing to experience them because hey, it’s happened this much, what’s a few more times? And then I’ll be a girl destined to write about funerals.

So yes, I do become depressed during this time of year, and not-so-coincidentally, this is when I do the least amount of writing. But right now, I need to say that even thinking about typing up a little blurb about work or college or the new house makes me ill. As hard as it is to read, and for as much as I’ve avoided saying it in the past, sometimes life really, really sucks.

Categories: Daily | 16 Comments »

Roast

December 9, 2008

Hey. Rachel is not feeling up to snuff right now. In fact, some may say that the darkest of clouds hovering above her head has gathered enough precipitation to crash onto her noggin. Poor thing. In the meantime, I’m here to ease your addiction.

I’m Dan. You might remember me from such blogs as Hobo Digest, Moonshine Memoirs, Boxcar Bums, Idiots Frozen in Time, and my critically acclaimed autobiography, Stuck in a Well: The Life and Times of Danial the Cocker Spaniel.

Her and I have been through so much. There was this one time where she made me Spaghetti O’s and, in return, I kindly dropped my (hot!) bowl on the floor. I showed her. There was also this one time when she ate an entire meatball hoagie, as well as my meatball hoagie, in one sitting. I mean Good Lord, Rachel. And yet, she still looks trim.

We weren’t always that friendly, oh no. We went for a walk together once and she was so ashamed of me. And you know why? Because I was walking with a LONG stride. That has to be some sort of prejudice right? Hey, if you got long legs you stay away from this girl. Word of advice.

Speaking of legs, this girl’s got two of them. She has used them on and off the lacrosse field, but mostly off. She used to buy Brooks running shoes to be just like me, then tell me she went out and ran “8 miles.” This was never actually documented by anyone but herself so it’s hard to be sure. Usually these “lies” would last a couple of days until she lost her running luster and went back to scrapbooking.

The scrapbooking was a horrible habit. Routinely, she would drag me to Michaels or Jo-Ann Fabrics to find “good deals” on supplies. Whether there was a good deal to be had or not, Rachel would stand and stare at the same stupid paper every time and then leave after spending at least $50. Then she would go home and scrapbook until she fell asleep in her underground den. It’s like she has the DNA of Mr. Monopoly and a bear.

Currently she pets Bello (part time) and reads any book she wants whenever she wants. It’s not easy being Rachel, but Lord knows she’s trying.