Archive for August, 2010

Published by PaintingChef on 30 Aug 2010

Insecurity. In a stream-of-consciousness form. And why I’ll probably never make new friends due to the crazy and the over-thinking.

I think the general consensus is that as we get older, lots of things get harder. Being a kid is fan-fucking-tastic and it’s one of life’s great tragedies that we don’t realize it at the time. People talk about wanting to go back to high school or college to re-live their carefree youth.

Screw that. I want to be 8 years old again. I want summer vacation to stretch out endlessly before me. I want to walk across the street to my best friend’s house at 10:00 in the morning in the middle of the week and form up our little biker gang as we roll from house to house with the queen of diamonds (it always had to be the queen of diamonds) stuck in the back wheel of my pink huffy so the kids could hear me coming from a mile away.

I want to not care that I’m covered in kid summer sweat from the hours I’ve spent on that bike or running through the woods or playing tag in the back yard (or Russian spy, whatever… sometimes we would let the boys pick the games). I want to tell time by the arrival of the ice-cream truck. I want to tumble into the house in a big mob of awkward kid limbs and dusty shoes and make kool-aid and pass around popsicles. And at the end of the day, I want to collapse into bed completely exhausted, fresh from the bath or shower and fall asleep dreaming about doing it again the next day.

Remember those days? Remember how EASY it was to make new friends and add people to your little biker mob? The new kid moves in next door or down the street. You tag along with your mom when she makes the new-neighbor visit with a pile of cookies and look at that! Right there in the living room! Another person. And just like that, your little road gang had grown by one. Guess what’s hard to do when you are old like me?

Make. New. Friends.

It’s like dating. It’s so difficult. But this past weekend, a good friend went wakeboarding with us and brought another couple with him. And they were AWESOME. They were cool and funny and laid back and drank beer and matched me curse word for curse word. They didn’t try to sell me anything or take me to their church or their spaceship. Their dogs sleep in their bed and feature prominently in their stories and probably their pictures. He brews his own beer. She’s impossibly adorable and is going back to school because finding a job sucks right now. I think they’re younger than us… do they think we’re old? They were totally up for post-lake spontaneous Mexican food at 10:00 on Friday night and talked about sleeping late the next morning. She got my 90210 joke. Is this love?

I’m so nervous. Insecure. When is it okay to call? Text? He left his sunglasses on the kitchen counter. Is that to ensure a callback or is it just because he’s as forgetful as I am and leaves a little trail of personal paraphernalia in his wake? Seriously. When is it okay to call? Invite her for a pedicure? I texted about the sunglasses because, well, I’d die without mine, but I’m solar-sensitive. Was that pushy?

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve become slightly lacking in the girlfriends department. I mean, I have them. Several. More than several. Several severals. (Is that nine? Nine seems about accurate. A several is three, right?) But let’s be honest… the ones that don’t have kids and aren’t running from day care to t-ball to soccer to dance lessons are few and far between. I’m at the age where MOST of my friends have kids. Which is, I know, COMPLETELY normal and I’m the exception. As is my uterus (there it is, the u-bomb, you knew it would be here).

Does she think its weird that I DON’T have kids? How old are they anyway, he mentioned working in 2006 so he’s been out of college since at least then which probably puts them inside of 10 years within our age. I feel like that’s acceptable. Am I allowed to look for her on Facebook yet? Just locate her? Or should I send a friend request? Does anyone else feel like a Facebook friend request is one of those “check yes or no” notes folded into a crane or a Chinese throwing star? If I invite them to do something and don’t invite the people who introduced us or I do and the old friends are busy but the new potential friends aren’t busy am I friend-poaching (a term coined by Patrick as I basically went through this entire thing with him yesterday)?

Baking them cupcakes would be too much, right? Better to say it with beer?

Dude. Being a grown up is really fucking hard.

Published by PaintingChef on 20 Aug 2010

Never once have I mentioned Kathy Griffin and there here she is… TWICE in one post. With spaceships no less.

Let me preface this by saying that no, this is not turning back into the “all my uterus, all the time” channel. I have not had, nor do I have looming, any appointments with the wonderful witch doctor. I’m still not where I need to be, in my head and in my heart, to jump back on that whole plan of cooking up a baby with the help of a skilled chemist, a little black magic, Patrick’s right hand and a VERY long syringe. (Too much? Too far? Yeah… probably. No worries, he’s totally a leftie)

But the other night I dreamt I was pregnant. Like… HUGELY pregnant. As in the amount of pregnant where random strangers are saying “HOLY CRAP! Does that HURT?” Also featured in the same dream? Star Wars-esque spaceships, a shopping mall and many, many bathrooms because all I apparently did while hugely pregnant was walk around the mall and pee. (This dream, by the way, led to a VERY mad dash to the bathroom at about 4 am this morning. No more second glass of water while sitting up in bed to read Kathy Griffin’s memoir because it is too damn funny to put down)

The reason I find this being massively pregnant dream (and I know I keep saying massively and hugely and all that but I’m telling you… I could NOT wrap my arms all the way around my stomach and the people in the mall and on the space ships (?) they were STARING! They were POINTING! They were offering to take me to the hospital!) so strange is that I can’t recall dreaming about being pregnant. EVER. Over the course of the past year while we were knee deep in fertility treatments, there were many cruel dreams where I would wake up thinking that I really HAD seen that positive pregnancy test in the middle of the night. I dreamt so many times about finding out I WAS pregnant. And then I would dream about going to the hospital to have a baby only to find out it was like… a cake. Or a goldfish.

People say that out dreams are our subconscious selves working shit out while we sleep… is that true? What am I trying to work out? Here my head is playing tricks on me when I thought I finally had everything figured out.

Then again, the night before this dream, I dreamt I was a head on a stick and I just sat up there on my stick yelling insults to everyone as they passed down below me. I attribute THAT one to either too much Kathy Griffin memoir or withdrawals from Nurse Jackie. It could go either way…

Published by PaintingChef on 10 Aug 2010

So am I MORE or LESS of an original now?

I’ve never had my writing stolen before. It was something that just belonged to me and a few other people read it sometimes. And some of these people would comment, there are a few who always email and maybe some others of you just read it and kept to yourself. That’s cool… I usually do that too.

(tangent… does anyone else think that the convenience of a feed reader is also causing less interaction among bloggers? It’s taking that extra step to click through and comment rather than just nodding to yourself or laughing a little before you keep scrolling down? No… just me? Well color me lazy.)

But the other afternoon, I was kind of bored and my feed reader was empty and I hadn’t watched Project Runway OR Mad Men so I was avoiding Television Without Pity AND Tom and Lorenzo plus there were other people in the office so those episodes of Weeds on iTunes weren’t doing me any favors EITHER. (And it should go without saying that working was out of the question… it was too hot.) So as I’m looking through my bookmarks list, I notice a long-forgotten link to a stats counter for this site. Meh… why not. I’m bored and surely that will kill at LEAST 45 seconds until I resort to picking at my cuticles.

So of course, I recognized most everyone listed and was just about to click to something equally fascinating when I saw some sort of link from a website called Gravity. The link was a long one but as I looked at it, something was oddly familiar. The link was the title to a very stupid post I’d made back in 2007 about having a sore ass after gardening. And someone, just a few days earlier, had tried to pass it off as their own.

They failed. Someone, some stranger with a super hero’s cape, called them on it. And I live to fight crime another day. But this had never happened to me before and I guess somewhere, somehow, its supposed to be a compliment that someone liked what I said enough to claim it as their own or whatever but I was really shocked by just how angry I got. Those were MY words. And ridiculous as they may be, they were still mine.

I am glad that they were called on it before I even discovered the whole situation because when I did actually post something on this (VERY strange) Gravity website, nobody believed that I was me. It was the weirdest feeling, reading people who were saying “I seriously doubt that the original poster would take the time to join Gravity just to confront someone who copied their work.” Really? Well first of all, it only took like 3 seconds to join. But secondly and more important, why wouldn’t I take the time to do just that? Those words are MINE. And some asshole was trying to pass them off as their own and then backing down like a little bitch as soon as they were confronted. “Oh no, I NEVER meant to imply that I wrote that.”

So those of you who have been plagiarized… what did you do? Did you just ignore it? And were you as angry as I was when you discovered it? (Not only that… but then somewhere else on this Gravity site, someone called me a one hit wonder. And then? They called me OLD!!! Perhaps I shall burn and pillage? Plunder? Pontificate? What’s the word I’m looking for… and if it belongs to you, can I borrow it?)