working for the weekend

It's simply sigh inducing to me when people who don't have jobs get all excited about it being the weekend. I've been unemployed and whenever I was I never gave a shit when the weekend rolled up. I was unemployed - every day was my weekend! Though truth be told the weekends were actually kind of annoying because more people were around, the supermarket was busier, the lines at Duane Reade longer, the sidewalks more crowded. Now I'm (incredibly thankfully and happily) employed and the weekend is god to me. Mainly the silence of no alarm clock going off, oh how I hate that stupid thing. So tell me unemployed people; (you can sleep in whenever you like, you can run your errands whenever you like, you're just as broke on Saturday as you are on Tuesday) what the hell are you so excited about?

eight pretty young things

Am I the only one who thinks that Octomom* and Michael Jackson (circa 1990) would have been like peanut butter and jelly? (I was going to say chocolate and peanut butter - which is much tastier - but chocolate's brown, Michael Jackson was once brown and losers everyone sees racism everywhere now)

* she has 14 kids to diddle
* how many can she watch at once?
* she's dead broke
* he loves to pay off moms
* she already lives in California

president's day proverb

A keeper is someone who really listens to your boring stories because as exciting as life can be, it usually isn't.

show; don't tell

Years ago I took a writing class. In the beginning, no matter what I wrote the same red professorial scrawl would come back to me; show! don't tell! This particular professor wasn't really a fan of exposition (which makes me wish he had edited any book Oprah ever hawked on her insipid show). It was tricky at the start but I was a nerd and a dedicated writer so I kept writing until I got what he was saying and did it right.

And now, years and years later I keep finding that his phrase, his show! don't tell! is the perfect sum up for a relationship. Yes, it's quite possibly little more than a version of 'He's Just Not That Into You' but dammit if it doesn't work even better.

Telling someone you care about them is quite literally one of the easiest things in the world. Growing up my mom was a HUGE fan of telling me that talk is cheap. As usual, as always, dead right. Talk is cheap. You can say anything and take it back, say you were drunk, you forgot... you never have to say true to your words unless lawyers, police and a judge are involved. You can verbally toss out whatever the hell you want and fix it later.

I dated man who swore he loved me. Swore it! And wasn't that lovely? He would say that he loved me then put on his coat and go home to his girlfriend. I dated another who also claimed to adore me. He would text me all day long about how he couldn't go on without me in his life. The fact that he married another girl in the midst of all those texts didn't seem to dawn on him... he couldn't get why I was done with him "But I love you!!" he'd implore into the phone, "don't you see that? I tell you all the time". Yeah buddy, and what a gift that is. Shakespearean in its depth and breadth.

I love words. I love to find them, parse them, use them. I'm a reader and a writer, I have an appreciation for words but even I realize how flimsy they are, like soaking wet tissues. But showing someone you care... well that's a whole different story. That's hard. And no one wants to do hard except someone who truly wants you to get how they feel about you.

It's harder to be thoughtful of someone's feelings. It's harder to comprise and let the other person be happier this time. It's awkward to ask someone out. In the age of texting, facebook messaging and IMs it's a bit odder to call someone up and ask how their day was. It's so much harder to be present when you can just say "oops, sorry about that, but damn, I told you I care about you".

In the end, for me, the best way to show me that you care is to actually care about me. Show me, because words are cheap and everyone says things they don't mean.

highlarity

choosey, for a beggar

I'm not a hunter, not even close. I'm a complete gatherer. Even when I shop, if I like something, I'll buy 2 or 3. Know why? Because I won't want to hunt these items down again. Oh! My laziness is legendary. Sooo not a hunter.

And people who know me, know this. Which is why it completely confuses my brain when my friends play the "hunt-me-down" game. Look people, it's not going to happen. I'll try a few dozen times, but just a few dozen. I'm mean but oddly sensitive, my pride can only take so much rebuffing. I'm not going to email you for plans and call you endlessly. A friend and an after-thought aren't the same thing. I'm not going to keep going to where I may run into you in the hopes that you'll remember we're friends. No. I'm going to fade away or, if you've got the head start, I'll let you (continue) to fade away. Yay! You win!

Look, I'm not (completely) self centered. I get it, you have a life. You have a job, a project due, kids, a spouse, a boyfriend, a really needy plant. But here's the thing - everyone does. You and you're situation are not as singular and unique as you think. People with jobs, projects, kids, husbands, boyfriends and needy plants manage to have friends. My mom had all those things and buckets of friends (and no, not all her friends were married with kids either, yes, she's soo radical).

Despite what you think, nothing in your life takes 24 hours, 7 days a week.

I don't have a boyfriend. No husband. No kids. So yes, I don't "get it". Not at all. I don't get how having any of these things in your life precludes or even rules out having friends. I don't see how wiping a nose or sharing a bed with a loved one prevents the sporadic hey what's up email. I don't see how being in love stops you from caring about your friends. The first month or two, when everything is new and chaotic, sure, of course. A year or two later? You're not busy, you're a crap friend. Actually, it's probably more likely that you're someone I used to be friends with. Hopefully, I will one day be in the same shoes. Then you can all wag your finger and tell me you told me so. That being a parent or in love and having friends is simply against god and nature. But I know myself. And caution me all you like, I'd make time so grab a cup of coffee with my friends. At least once a month. Even if I had to bring my spawn with me.

I want to say that it matters, that it's doable, that your priorities make the difference. But in some cases I suppose it already has.

helen keller could do it better

I am a lousy communicator.

I have too many hang-ups. I worry that what I say will be taken wrong. I worry what I say will be taken correctly. I worry I'm putting it out there at the wrong time, that who I'm talking to won't be receptive. I worry they will be and and invariably I'll come to find out I was wrong. My biggest worry is that in the end, no one cares about what I have to say anyway.

That's kind of a biggie.

I'm the type of person that holds most things in to begin with (the above are reasons) but I also think there's something to be said for being able to suck things up and move along. Though it turns it that I really don't.

I let things fester. I get annoyed and disappointed. I find myself completely pissed off when it turns out that my nearest and dearest aren't mind readers. Even worse, I know deep down this is also a litmus test that I use. How much do you care? How much effort do you put out? It's small and petty but if I'm being honest, it's part of me. it's just what I do - it's not exactly my greatest selling point. To the contrary, if I were a house for sale it would be a mold problem in the basement I'd paint over, a sump pump that conks out after an inch of rain, something the realtor would eagerly sidestep.

I'm trying to better. I try to tell my friends when I'm upset or feel slighted. It's not easy. First, I'm no good at it. Second, no one really wants to hear complaints that pertain to them. Third, I'd rather be mugged daily than confront someone. It turns out that the more you do it, the easier it gets. At once a year intervals, it should be easy as pie by the time I'm 74.

thanks facebook!

I am quite certain that the ancillary purpose of Facebook is to make me truly fucking regret breaking up with a solid 45-60% of the guys I dated when I was in high school and college.

a great reason to pee in my pants

The other night, on a subway, headed downtown to a poker game in the village I saw a 20somethingish year old 'guy' in the tightest black jeans imaginable. The jeans were so tight, they were leggings really. In case that somehow wasn't bad enough, remember 1993? Well, Leggings-Like asshat was wearing shoe-boots.

*if you don't remember 1993 or were some retarded age like 12 (fuck you) shoe-boots may very well be an indescribable tragedy.