Some Blog

Grouping has begun

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

The card was addressed to Some Girl, but the message was for Some Girl and Bruce. We have officially received our first piece of couple mail. Considering that most of Bruce’s family is blissfully unaware of our sinful cohabitation, I didn’t really expect to get something that was addressed to us both. Of course my friends and family know about our situation, but we’re not really card senders. Plus, I am going back to Boston for the holiday so I will collect the cards as I see people. Oh yeah, I’m leaving for the other coast. With my computer out of commission I don’t expect to be posting or on-line for the time through the new year. So if I don’t speak or write with you between now and then, have a Happy Hanukkah, Merry Christmas, Happy Constitution Day in Taiwan, A joyous Wyoming Day (for those of you in Wyoming), a fulfilling Feed yourself Day (Benin, I’m looking at you) and any other holiday that I may have missed, just know I am wishing you well and all the best. See you next year.

Flake

Monday, December 18, 2006

I buy into it too. I know a smart woman wouldn’t (shouldn’t). But I believe the lines of print and the promises of commercials. Except I get there without the commercial and the products. The promises mean nothing to me because I don’t have live and die by them.

My skin, in its crowning glory is pretty damn great all on its own. No really. You know how there are people who have spent a lot of money for acne prevention and various resurfacing techniques? I’ve never. Beyond the occasional facial and a so-so regime of dial soap, I don’t do very much. But I still have been blessed with good skin. You know those women who are bold enough to go up to a stranger on a street and comment on their hair/shoes/skin? Yeah, I’m the stranger. And yes, I know that if I told the truth, that I usually use just water to rinse off yesterday’s make-up and then apply today’s make-up and every now and then I use my body wash to wash my face, most women in America would declare a jihad against me. Trust me I know, but I didn’t always.

In high school, before I learned to cast such a critical eye, I would be hard pressed to pick the girl with bad skin out of my group. Looking back, and in conversation with old school mates, apparently there were quite a few girls with bad skin. I just didn’t notice. I would moan about a spot on my chin, which was invisible to the naked eye and would be gone the next day. Of course, in retrospect, I can think of a few girls and boys who must have been horribly plagued by the condition of their skin and must have hated me and my bravado something fierce.

I suppose I have my mother to thank for this. My father’s face has the topographic evidence of an acne scene from days gone by. My mother has a smooth plane of perfect skin that has yet to show the evidence of our hedonistic worship of the sun (with baby oil). Oh yes, we are sun worships of the highest order. Like before prom, when it was so very important to me that I be thoroughly deeply tanned I was going to the tanning salon twice a day. My skin never takes on that weirdly orange hue of Hollywood starlets and the more I tanned the more fabulous my pale blue dress looked. Still with the abuse and neglect to which I subjected my face, my skin is still something of a loyal subject and is performing as it always does.

While I have my mother to thank for the skin, I can’t say that I am willing to give any thanks to anyone who has ever come up and commented on my skin. I appreciate that there are women who agonize over their skin and that acne can really affect your outlook. But, sometimes I believe that the only reason that people even think about their skin, and my skin, in terms of commodities, is that someone named Helen or Anna says they should. Proactive has made a statement with Britney and Jessica. Susan Lucci is in on the deal as is Leeza. Compliment my nail polish color or jean because at least I can tell you where you too can get them.

I just wish that I didn’t feel like I need to apologize for having nice skin. I feel a little bit of guilt for something over which I have very little control. I don’t feel bad about having nice hair or full lips, but my skin, it’s like I feel that I need to kind of earn the right. Like I need to put in the time and effort with a cleansing regime and maintenance schedule in order to deserve the state of my skin. I hate that other people feel bad about something that comes naturally. I hate that there is a measure of worth based on something so very shallow.

And just because things always balance out, Bruce has really rough skin. And now, instead of agonizing over my skin, I find myself plotting ways to get Bruce to a facial. Now I get it, I really do.

Just so you know

Friday, December 15, 2006

My beloved computer is sitting in a box waiting to be shipped to somewhere deep in the heart of Texas. All of my mental triggers for blog posts are sitting in my hard drive, which is packed in a plastic bag and put away in a drawer waiting for a happy computer to be returned. The turn around time is looking like 21 days. It’s like my right arm has been cut off. Bruce’s spare laptop (I know, like who has a spare laptop right, well the guy with two laptops and a desk top, that’s who) has come to the rescue, but all of my passwords and preferences are not here. Remembering how to log into different accounts sucks. Also commenting on blogs on this laptop makes me angry because I have to fill in all that information.

This is of course the minor problem. The major thing is that my resume and cover letters live on my hard drive. I have a few saved at Monster and it means that I have to go into that account to get all those onto Bruce’s laptop. Also, I am in the middle of a jihad with my student loans company. They used an automatic debit that I have tried to cancel and took money from my checking account. My bank is in the process of getting my money back, but it means that I have to send faxes and letters to all over the world. Of course these letters all sit on my hard drive. This sucks.

In case you missed it, this sucks.

Crazy Bastards

The State of California has in its infinite wisdom granted me a driver’s license.

Now I just have to get Bruce to add a secondary driver to his insurance and away I go.

Okay, not really. I think it will take an act of God (normally called a miracle) for Bruce to let me drive his car. So what I’m really waiting for is for him to be sent away on business and then, then I will be able to get lost in Northern California. Seriously, I need to get a GPS device to walk down the street.

Good times.

Scheduled happiness

Seasonally, this is the time to be full of joy. But instead, mankind seems to be weighed down with overwhelming sadness. Deeply profound and heart wrenchingly depressed, mankind is more than just wallowing, it’s in sludge. Christmas time is one of those holidays that seeps out the ache in a life. The loneliness and sorrow that can be concealed throughout the rest of the year find crevices and like lava coats self-esteem and levels any emotional strength. When the smoke clears all that is left is a hardened layer of Paho’eho’e.

Why is it that Christmas is a time of desolation? I don’t think it really has to do with Christ. He was a pretty nice guy, very accepting of prostitutes and the like. And I am pretty sure that the whole tree and presents thing isn’t the problem. Sure it sucks when you don’t get the flash bang of a big Christmas, but really how much of that is real and how much of that is a Hollywood concept? And once Christmas is over, there is Valentine’s day sitting around the corner just waiting to poke you in the eye.

For me, this time of year is all about me. The best things that happen to me, happen around this season. Bruce and I are coming up on our 1 year. My birthday is coming. I get mounds of presents. I tend to rate this time of year as falling between good and great.

I don’t know why I felt compelled to say this, I just wanted everyone who doesn’t feel depressed this time of year, I’m okay and you’re okay.

Repeat delivery

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

I guess, upon reflection, it means I am a slut. I don’t really fight the moniker, because like they say, if it quacks like a duck and tastes like a duck, or something like that. I have forgotten more partners than the average 28 year-old female has had. In conversation with a voice in my head I remembered the married man. He was rife with dancey feet that were not alway on my couch. He was a piano player in a itty bitty blues bar in London’s West End. His name was so typical that I rolled my eyes. Paul or Daniel or some other Biblically approved name. Smith. Jones. Whatever, the point is that I was sitting there just doing time till I came to the bottom of a double G and T with a twist of lime.

The introduction was what it was and all I can say for sure is that he came on to me. A ride at the end of the night wherein I rode him, just a little, after all, he and I had just met. A meeting later led to not much more than what was before and that wasn’t much at all. This was in my playing the field days and I was well suited to playing the field. I don’t even remember the in between, but I remember the end, and the end is always so much more interesting than everything else.

I emailed something mundane line to him and said something about seeing him at his next show. As I settled into my stool and my Gin he came up behind me and whispered in my ear: “Be careful of what you write in emails, my wife reads those.”

Yeah, his wife. Having been single long enough to know things, of course I did a ring check and he was free and clear. The burden of telling me that he was involved/married was on him. The burden of walking away from him was on me. I have never been really good at doing what I wassuppose to. I would like to say that I walked out of that bar that night and never looked back. I would like to say that I didn’t wait for the end of the night and then accept a ride to a ride. I would like to say that I supported my sisters and sent a dog home alone. Most of all I would like to say that I felt remorseful at being the other woman.

Too bad this isn’t the blog of some nice girl.

Does it count if you plug in the “Christmas Wreath” Yankee Candle air freshener

Wednesday, December 06, 2006

‘Tis the Season to own a preassembled plastic tree made in China

Saturday, December 02, 2006

Bruce and I bought our tree. The set up and decorations will commence shortly. This is going to be interesting. We are annoyingly picky about things. This is why he and I work so well. The tree has a blue undertones so I have ornaments in shades of blue and silver with white lights.

Yay Festive Season wherein I get lots of fun gifts. Woo hoo, 28 is around the corner (30 beckons) and I am totally being all grown up and shit. Look at me living in sin with a Roman Catholic. (Generations of Jews just rolled over in their respective graves.)

Okay, so I know nothing of fun or wit has crossed the threshold of my blog recently. Trust me, I know. Dull me is getting bored with dull me. I am going to work on stuff for the readers that have stuck around.