My thoughts have been a coaster ride. The cresting is the worst. Muscles tighten preparing for the drop, for the stomach to lurch, then seconds of gripping fear, loss of control, and finally elation sweeps through and calms each nerve ending, and I laugh at the lingering sense of foolishness.
I try to determine what brings on these feelings of desperation, depression. It does not make sense.
I blame too much information. Too many internet news items that snag me like the glistening end of a shiny sharp hook. Just yesterday, there was news of the virus that links oral sex to throat cancer. The report on remote Afghan villages where snakes, mice, children, adults are addicted to opium. The interview with the journalist who warns that dependence on coal will eradicate our sustainable environment much sooner than anyone cares to know.
I blame my own stifling perception. Last night, as I watched an episode of the IFC's Freaks and Geeks, I fixated on the Lindsay character. She was me in high school. Exactly. It spooked me. It upset me to the point of crying. I am not sure what of Lindsay's persona struck my most sensitive nerve. The awkwardness of 16 year old virginity? Or not realizing until many years later that the one you thought was so the one was so not worth it. But what young woman has not been there, and so why do I carry that around like a scarlet letter?
Maybe the only thing to blame is hormones. Or the cold rain and snow. No matter, I want to disembark and not get back on line for a long while. I want to drive my car and crank up the volume of The Beastie Boys, not wallow in the repetition of my Jackson Browne cds. I don't like going to the market and thinking that those frown-faced 50 somethings with the reading glasses and the coupons will be me pretty soon. I want to have sex at night against a car in a deserted parking lot, blindfolded, while listening to Zeppelin's Trampled Under Foot. I want to bury my tendency to offer a soft "sorry" to the honker behind me when I did not accelerate immediately as the light switched from red to green. I want to stop staring at other people's houses and wondering what the hell is going on inside. And although I wish not even my worst enemy cancer, when you give me a dirty look because in your opinion I held up the ATM line putting my bills away, I want to look you in the eyes and say Eat Me.
Wednesday, February 23, 2011
Thursday, February 10, 2011
My Top Ten ... (yes, I'm stealing the bit from Dave)
Potential responses to my newly-made bar stool buddy's conversational comment ...
"I give my husband a BJ every day."
Number 10 - "Sweet. Nothing says I Love You quite like a daily blow job."
Number 9 - "As they say, a blow job a day makes the husband not stray."
Number 8 - "Imagine all the jealous body builders out there who spend lots of money on protein supplements!"
Number 4 - "This gives a whole new meaning to the word "bobble-head".
Number 2 - "You mention this to my husband, and I'll kill you."
And the number one response ...
"OK, so now I'm definitely NOT letting you taste my melon martini."
"I give my husband a BJ every day."
Number 10 - "Sweet. Nothing says I Love You quite like a daily blow job."
Number 9 - "As they say, a blow job a day makes the husband not stray."
Number 8 - "Imagine all the jealous body builders out there who spend lots of money on protein supplements!"
Number 7 - "That's one way to avoid carpel tunnel syndrome."
Number 6 - "I hope he doesn't expect birthday presents."
Number 5 -"Wow, you really suck. And I mean that in a good way."
Number 3 - "So that's why your lips are so well-toned!"
Number 2 - "You mention this to my husband, and I'll kill you."
And the number one response ...
"OK, so now I'm definitely NOT letting you taste my melon martini."
Friday, February 4, 2011
On The Rocks or Straight Up ... You Always Want More
Looking across the table at my kids as we dine on sushi, I smile at my son fixating on the engineering behind chop sticks purposely rigged with a rubber band to make them five-year-old friendly. The aroma of black tea as the cup nears my lips reminds me of pot. My daughter orders the usual white rice and won ton.
Then I hear a request from a booth two doors down. It reminds me of how different this family dinner out is from the ones I remember as a kid.
"Orange soda."
I want to immediately scream NO ICE. I'll get to why in a minute.
You see, growing up in the recession-burdened seventies in a blue collar neighborhood with a thrifty Depression-era father meant dinners out had to be a very special occasion, or involve a too-good-to-pass-up coupon. The special occasion was always the "kids'" birthday dinner. Luck shined down on dad in this department since his three children all had birthdays during the month of September (well, mine was end of August, close enough) so one outing sufficed. As for the coupon, it was always McDonalds, and always for Filet-O-Fish. A two for one deal. Being that there were five of us, dad got to eat two. But to compensate for the, in his mind, coercion of having to pay full price for accompaniments, like fries and drinks, he ordered only TWO large orange sodas, NO ICE. Always said with great emphasis. And three extra small cups.
Why orange soda? We never questioned it. My mom offered no input. I think she was just happy to be out of the house and not heating up chicken pot pies and Ellio's pizza for a change. Maybe he thought it was a treat for us kids, offering a taste along of the lines of an orange ice pop ... oh wait, there's that word. Never mind.
Whatever the reason, to this day I am compelled to respond NO ICE to any mention of orange soda. And that is exactly what I did in my mind that evening in the Japanese restaurant. I chuckled to myself as I did so and thought of those days gone by, and all the other instances where my father's rationing and frugality make for today's good-natured dad-bashing conversations between my siblings and me. We eventually came to realize that being raised by a spendthrift had no ill effect on us, taught us conservation rather than wastefulness, and motivated us to work harder to earn more if more is indeed what you want. And who doesn't always want more?
Then I hear a request from a booth two doors down. It reminds me of how different this family dinner out is from the ones I remember as a kid.
"Orange soda."
I want to immediately scream NO ICE. I'll get to why in a minute.
You see, growing up in the recession-burdened seventies in a blue collar neighborhood with a thrifty Depression-era father meant dinners out had to be a very special occasion, or involve a too-good-to-pass-up coupon. The special occasion was always the "kids'" birthday dinner. Luck shined down on dad in this department since his three children all had birthdays during the month of September (well, mine was end of August, close enough) so one outing sufficed. As for the coupon, it was always McDonalds, and always for Filet-O-Fish. A two for one deal. Being that there were five of us, dad got to eat two. But to compensate for the, in his mind, coercion of having to pay full price for accompaniments, like fries and drinks, he ordered only TWO large orange sodas, NO ICE. Always said with great emphasis. And three extra small cups.
Why orange soda? We never questioned it. My mom offered no input. I think she was just happy to be out of the house and not heating up chicken pot pies and Ellio's pizza for a change. Maybe he thought it was a treat for us kids, offering a taste along of the lines of an orange ice pop ... oh wait, there's that word. Never mind.
Whatever the reason, to this day I am compelled to respond NO ICE to any mention of orange soda. And that is exactly what I did in my mind that evening in the Japanese restaurant. I chuckled to myself as I did so and thought of those days gone by, and all the other instances where my father's rationing and frugality make for today's good-natured dad-bashing conversations between my siblings and me. We eventually came to realize that being raised by a spendthrift had no ill effect on us, taught us conservation rather than wastefulness, and motivated us to work harder to earn more if more is indeed what you want. And who doesn't always want more?
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Inspiration
There’s still a little bit of your taste in my mouth
There’s still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
It’s still a little hard to say what's going on
There’s still a little bit of your ghost your weakness
There’s still a little bit of your face i haven't kissed
You step a little closer each day
That I can´t say what´s going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to lie
Life, it taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball
There’s still a little bit of your song in my ear
There’s still a little bit of your words i long to hear
You step a little closer to me
So close that I can´t see what´s going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to lie
Life taught me to die
So its not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to cry
So come on courage, teach me to be shy
'Cause its not hard to fall,
And I don't want to scare her
Its not hard to fall
And i don't want to lose
Its not hard to grow
When you know that you just don't know
Damien Rice - Cannonball
..........
I was blown away by the beauty of this song. I am reading, for the first time, To Kill A Mockingbird, and on every page I have to pause to reread a line or two due to the sheer intensity of it. It is to this level of creative impact that I aspire.
There’s still a little bit of you laced with my doubt
It’s still a little hard to say what's going on
There’s still a little bit of your ghost your weakness
There’s still a little bit of your face i haven't kissed
You step a little closer each day
That I can´t say what´s going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to lie
Life, it taught me to die
So it's not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball
There’s still a little bit of your song in my ear
There’s still a little bit of your words i long to hear
You step a little closer to me
So close that I can´t see what´s going on
Stones taught me to fly
Love taught me to lie
Life taught me to die
So its not hard to fall
When you float like a cannonball
Stones taught me to fly
Love, it taught me to cry
So come on courage, teach me to be shy
'Cause its not hard to fall,
And I don't want to scare her
Its not hard to fall
And i don't want to lose
Its not hard to grow
When you know that you just don't know
Damien Rice - Cannonball
..........
I was blown away by the beauty of this song. I am reading, for the first time, To Kill A Mockingbird, and on every page I have to pause to reread a line or two due to the sheer intensity of it. It is to this level of creative impact that I aspire.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)