Echo

so i was sitting in a pink ford focus on the way to the happiest little gay bar in town with my peppy blonde ex-cheerleader not-really friend, kerri at the wheel. the speakers throbbed sugar ray track three on repeat as her mouth went on and on about how: everywhere she goes, hotties (aka “hot men”) are always giving her the look (hungry) and asking her out and she just doesn’t know what to do about it since *sigh* she’s been dating nonstop since, like, forever and she just feels like she wants to take some time off and, you know, find herself. being that i’m going through a six-month (plus or minus two years) dry spell with the last recorded stir of sexual subactivity ending in the theft of my three favorite pairs of black nylons and a polite twelve-page letter detailing my physical flaws, i did what (at the time) the situation naturally seemed to call for.

I was in such a funk today. I woke up and felt so lonely. The world suddenly felt so big, and somehow, made me feel hollow and empty. Like I was raining on the inside. I’m wondering if I expect too much from the world and that no matter what, my existence will always involve disappointment. In a way, I feel like I’m emotionally high-maintenance but I don’t know if there are people out there in the world who can give me all the affection and care that I need. I’m such a disgusting puppy. Sometimes I wonder if everyone feels this way but just doesn’t admit it. Yes, I have cried myself to sleep in the past. There. I admitted it.

I sent out an email to Maryland Brian, the guy I was in love with in college but could not get it together for. A part of me has never let him go because he’s such a good guy. He’s married now. But I think I still hang on to it because I cared about him then completely went out of my way to destroy it. It doesn’t matter whether there was anything there, if it would have worked, etc. I don’t want anything romantic with him; I just have good associations with him because he’s such an upstanding guy. The biggest thing is that I think I still feel horrified about what I will do to keep something from working. Something that might feel good to me. For someone who understands people so well objectively, I have some serious issues about relating to people.

I’ve realized that I can’t deal with disappointment. I HATE it when people say they’ll do something or go somewhere with me, and then I get my hopes up, but then they cancel for no good reason (ie they didn’t feel like going anymore). I get so hurt and angry because it was stupid of me to get my hopes up and I feel like people really don’t care about me. You have to realize that I don’t talk about these things to anyone so most people probably don’t realize what a big baby I am. But it hurts and I never tell people because I’m embarrassed about it and I think it’s disgusting and needy. And then I don’t want them to realize that these things can hurt me, or that I care. Then I decide that I don’t want to be around people anymore because it only leads to disappointment. And I go about withdrawing like crazy. What the fuck is wrong with me.

Julia: What about, “I think I love you when I’m drunk?”

Lauren: Yeah, tell him to go ahead and write that in the vows.

So in tribute to spring love and the fact that both Lauren and I will be attending weddings tomorrow, here are my hypothetical wedding vows, if I were to marry a hypothetical man named…let’s say, Toto.

Toto…since I met you, I’ve seen more colors in the universe than I previously thought existed. And I’m not just talking about the crazy colors in my morning phlegm, which as Dr. Grendal told me are just leftovers of the pixie sticks I used to snort in high school. And neither am I talking about the variety of pigments in my urine. Who knew the clap could be so tenacious? No, Toto, I’m talking about the the shades of sunset over the gentle ocean horizon, the oranges, golds and reds of leaves swirling in the fall, and the exploding stars before my eyes that time you slammed me in the head with our brand new fondue pot when I flipped your mother the bird for saying that my tube top made me look like a whore (good thing the pot was still in the Target bag…otherwise I suspect it might have left a nasty scar). Yes, that tube top did make me look like a whore, but your mother is honestly a fucking cunt (sorry, Mrs. G). Anyway, as I was saying, dearest Toto, I can not imagine my life without you, your sweet caresses and your tender declarations of “Get me my fuckin’ Pabst Blue Ribbon outta the cooler bitch and don’t let me catch you outta the fuckin’ kitchen again. Don’t make me use my belt!”

[Note to Self: Self, do a dramatic pause here, as you are bound to be overwhelmed by your love and too choked up to speak for up to three minutes].

After our first date, I knew that you were the kind of person that I wanted to be with forever. Maybe it was because you bought me dinner at the Sizzler before doing me in the back of your El Camino. Maybe it was because you slowed to a considerate 12 miles per hour when you nudged me out of your car in front of my house. Maybe it’s because you always stand up for me in front of your friends. That day when you told Davey Boy after he caught us banging in the bathroom at the bowling alley, “Yeah, she’s a ho, but she’s my ho,” I would have cried tears of joy if I hadn’t just accidentally flushed my thong down the toilet.

My mom doesn’t really like me very much right now. I picked a strange time to assert myself and more or less kicked her and my brother out of my place yesterday. She thinks it’s just because I wanted to spend time with the guy I’m dating, but it’s all about principle to me. It probably wasn’t right, but I just got tired of how she always places my brother first and how my personality now is shaped in a way that always puts other people’s needs and desires before my own. Hell, it’s gotten to the point where I don’t even recognize what I want anymore because I figure it’s not important. I’m so repressed in that way. I got so sick of how she can’t see my point of view or even acknowledge it, and how it’s always been that when it’s convenient for her or the family, I should be obedient and “mature/responsible,” but then out in the world she doesn’t understand why I don’t assert myself and says, “Just go do it” in the most disgusted, condescending way. Fuck you!! I can’t just go do it because my self-assertion and self-esteem were beaten out of me. I had no fucking childhood because I was so busy being a third parent for my brother and making sure that I didn’t give my parents anything else to worry about. Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck you. Fuck you for ignoring me and expecting me to be able to grow up on my own. Fuck you for expecting me to become the person that you thought I should become and punishing me for being who I am. Fuck you for seeing me as an extension of yourself. Fuck you for loving my brother more than me when it was about your guilt that’s not even my fault. FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK FUCK. I know you hate that word but this is my own fucking space and if I wanna say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER in public, I sure as hell am going to say DAMMIT JESUS CHRIST MOTHERFUCKER WITH A CHERRY ON TOP in public.

But again, there’s the logical reasoning of…no one cares.

I just got back from a trip to the Grand Canyon. Three Words. Fucking Awe Some.

I realized that my personality type is that of a Loner. Who gets lonely. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN? God are you there? It’s me, Julia. And I have a gun.

I also found out that my mother does not appreciate the phrase, “Dammit Jesus Christ Muthafucker.” Not one bit.

Here’s a favorite quote from the past…

You mean this opera involves handcuffs? (I lay defeated)

I talked to Michelle today. She gave me a great quote:

Friendship between women is often nothing more than temporary suspension of hostility.

I have a feeling that people sometimes think I dislike members of my own gender. It’s not true. I actually have a little too much love for everyone. But I have a hard time respecting some of the negative shadow aspects of the anima, mostly embodied in catty, passive-aggressive, underminingly hostile behavior. Men succombing to the anima can also exhibit these qualities. I just hate it. It’s not a fair fight. I’d rather get punched in the face than betrayed while I sleep. I’m just cautious about getting too near that crap because I’m hanging high on idealism, which is one skip away from utter cynicism.

I watched parts of K-Pax today. I know a lot of people don’t like that movie but I actually liked it. Kevin Spacey, as always, is amazing and the psychological elements were very interesting. I’m still wondering why Linda told me that she thought of me when she saw it and thought that I would really enjoy it. Mental note: Ask her. The capabilities of the human mind (spirit?) never cease to amaze me.

Okay, this obsession with wandering around my place and taking off my shirt is becoming a problem. I am finding shirts in the strangest of places. When I find one in the fridge one of these days, I want y’all out there who don’t read this blogger to demand that I get help. I just found a shirt that I thought my washing machine had eaten last year in my brother’s closet. Not like hung up or anything, but like I took it off, threw it in there, and then forgot about it. But I was notorious for stripping and running out to greet the mailman when I was younger (like 4 years old, as opposed to last week) so I guess I can argue that I’m getting better.

My thought of the day:

Now, I want to ask all you out there in rhetoric land a question:

I know we live in a society where both sexes complain about miscommunication, dishonesty with feelings and fears of intimacy and commitment. Monogamy reigns supreme and that is what we all “strive” for. But then everyone knows that everyone checks everyone else out, regardless. Perhaps this is the most basic of our instincts at work.

There’s this family that I’m friends with that happens to have built the building that I currently live in. While they were building it, the matriarch of the family passed away from cancer. It was a sad affair, especially considering what a wonderful family they are. Well, my neighbor downstairs is a total bitch. She’s a pathological liar and martyrs herself to get attention. She makes up complaints and all her complaints end with something like this: “blah blah blah I’m a wench I’m a wench I’m a wench…and then I was so upset, I cried for hours.” Yeah. Totally. Psycho. She used to complain if I made any noise, such as my 240 lb. lil’ brother walking across our living room. Well, I was at a homeowners meeting last week where she was complaining to everyone about how back in the day, the guy who had built the building had “called me a pig. I have lived in America for many years and I have never witnessed such behavior! I was so upset that I cried for hours.”

Now, I have heard both sides of this story and I happen to know that he didn’t call her a pig and that she was pulling this story out of her ass and making up her own details to fit into the landscape of Warped Crazy Lady Land. Everyone was “ooh”ing, sympathizing with her and it made me sick at the possibility that intelligent people could fall for this self-pitying (and pathological!) crap. But then she continues and says, “They’re horrible people. I bet they gave her the cancer!” I snapped back, “Who?” Just because I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. She said, “That poor woman! I bet they gave it to her because they’re such terrible people. I bet if I had to live with them, I would get cancer, too.” I had been trying to ignore her but at this point I had to say something so I said, “I don’t think that’s a fair thing to say.” And by “fair thing,” I meant “non-crazy bitchy HUMANE thing, you crazy liposuctioned motherfucker.” So she continues, saying, “I would get something like, colon cancer, if I had to live with them.” Huh??? Is your anus particularly sensitive to insult? Does its immune capabilities weaken in the face of imagined name calling? And Stupid Lady…are you telling me that even hearing those words coming out of your mouth doesn’t shock your frozen heart into a jumpstart? I’ll give you colon cancer. In the form of my foot up your ass. Just give me a second while I put on some heavy boots.

I give you this anecdote as a character sketch because…

TODAY

I had written a letter and given it to each unit in this building about how the homeowners association should now require formal written proposals and budgets for all spending. Lately, they have been spending money at whim on the most random things, like a $300 plant, and hell, that’s my friggin’ money too! Well, she called today to complain that I was being too noisy on my little mini step machine (the portable ones with just the steps). We had “words” and she, being the martyring little snot that she is, tries to tell me when I can and can’t exercise. I, being the sarcastic little snot that I am, tell her to write out her schedule so I can make sure to work my exercise schedule around it. So she’s going off on her bitching, and out of the blue, says, “And furthermore, don’t you dare write me letters and try to intimidate me with your big words.” I had to supress giggles. Apparently, she doesn’t understand multi-syllabic words. And furthermore, it’s not freakin’ about her! I had the strong urge to retort, “The universe is heliocentric, Anna. It doesn’t revolve around you.” But I realized it was a lost battle because she wouldn’t have understood what “heliocentric” meant.

So it ended when I called her pathological (which Webster Dictionary defines as: 1. pertaining to or caused by disease; 2. Unhealthy or compulsive behavior, ie pathological liar ), which I’m sure she didn’t understand because I said it twice and she glossed over what was clearly a huge insult. Then I chuckled while she was in mid-sentence then told her, “I’m busy. I’m watching TV,” then hung up on her. And went back to watching Celebrity Mole.