I had a friend over for lunch today and I made spaghetti and we had a picnic on my living room floor. The more interesting part, at least to any reader that doesn't care what I cooked for lunch, is the ensuing conversation we had about the concept of "overlap" and how I pretty desperately try to avoid it.
The basic concept is that I generally seek to avoid drama in my life. And the greater degree of "overlap" you have with your friends, the greater likelihood of drama, unspoken or not.
Here are examples of overlap -
1. You sleep with someone. Your friend makes out with someone. That's overlap.
2. You both sleep with someone. That is definitely overlap.
3. You both make out with the same person. This is overlap, but under certain circumstances, can be arguable overlap.
Any activity at first base or forward is overlap, and the further the base, the more disturbing the overlap.
I've overlapped with someone I know at least three times, and it disturbs me. She probably still doesn't know of any of it(and it'll stay that way!). But it's still aggravating. Oddly enough, with the exception of her and as far as I know(although I might just be being naive), I don't think there is anyone else I have had cause to overlap with. Which is really pretty awesome!
A good way to avoid any sort of overlap, and a rule of thumb I subconsciously follow, is to only date one person within any social circle. Sure, that severely limits dating possibilities...but hey. Besides, I'm really not sure I could conscientiously date within any social circle more than once, anyway. Social circle incest is almost always cause for drama, anyway.
So, I suppose I will have to disagree with the Spice Girls, who once said "If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends."
Tuesday, November 20, 2007
Thursday, November 15, 2007
my mother's daughter.
It is my parents' anniversary tomorrow, and they will have been married for 26 years. My mother planned some romantic getaway, but naturally decided to bring her laptop.
So I'm sitting at work and she's talking at me over AIM, because she's found that I'm more likely to answer that than return phone messages.
Now, my mother is essentially an older version of me, except more inclined towards marriage and children, and better at welding.
She says, as I am mulling over a reasonably pointless report:
"When are you going to bring your boyfriend home?"
I take this opportunity to clean off my desk a little and go get a drink from the vending machine. She fills in the silence.
"If you maybe plan on liking him enough eventually, I'll like to meet him."
Wow, Mom.
In two concise sentences, my mother managed to:
1. imply, again and as per usual, my general emotional detachment.
2. guilt trip me about dating people(there will be more explanation later).
3. guilt trip me about not coming home enough.
4. convey her belief that I am in fact, unlikely to bring anyone home.
5. imply, however unsaid, that my brother has been bringing women home.
See, most mothers try to make you date someone. Anyone, it doesn't matter who they are, as long as they don't have too many piercings or tattoos or missing parts.
My mother does not.
Given, I haven't brought anyone home for about two years now, and there's been no one I've even touched suggestively in that time period without piercings or tattoos or missing parts. Well, I suppose she wouldn't known that that one boy was missing a testicle, but that was a exceedingly brief dalliance anyway. Oh, and that boy that I didn't know had a piercing or a tattoo until ALL the clothing came off. That didn't go anywhere either. Seriously, at least get some other part pierced or tattooed as well so I'm not completely surprised. But, I digress.
My mother discourages me from doing anything that will result in the embodiment of the three constants in my family that we talk about the least - alcoholism, infidelity and depression, all three of which have led various members of aforementioned family to death, and worse, family drama. I am not certain of this yet, but I strongly suspect that she believes that any relationship that I embark on will be a step towards me proving that I am in fact, her daughter and of this slightly fucked up lineage. My reassurances that I have yet to fulfill all three constants within the context of any relationship, and generally only one with each relationship, don't seem to make her feel too much better.
I'm beginning to truly believe that what my mother wants is for me to date a lot, and keep on telling her stories, but never getting to the point where I'd have to think about whether I wanted to bring them home or not, because I wouldn't.
She knows I am her daughter.
She raised me without a religion. She said I could figure it out myself later. Recently, she asked "Have you found which God to follow?" I said, "I don't think there is one."
"That's fine," she said, "I think there is one."
And that was that.
My mother knows that I am completely capable of repeating every mistake she has ever made. She knows I have an adjustable sense of morality. She knows that I stubbornly remain in relationships until I finally crack and dump boys over AIM. But she also knows that I am silly and inconstant, but never stupid. She knows that I will have adventures. She thinks I could use some therapy, but won't suggest it. She thinks my father is responsible for my emotional apathy, because he too is often as responsive as a brick.
And despite all this -
"You are a smart girl," she says.
By that, she really means, "If you fuck up, I know you'll weather it fine, and when you're a old, single, crazy cat lady and your boobs are saggy, I trust that you will have definitely lived and hopefully loved."
So I'm sitting at work and she's talking at me over AIM, because she's found that I'm more likely to answer that than return phone messages.
Now, my mother is essentially an older version of me, except more inclined towards marriage and children, and better at welding.
She says, as I am mulling over a reasonably pointless report:
"When are you going to bring your boyfriend home?"
I take this opportunity to clean off my desk a little and go get a drink from the vending machine. She fills in the silence.
"If you maybe plan on liking him enough eventually, I'll like to meet him."
Wow, Mom.
In two concise sentences, my mother managed to:
1. imply, again and as per usual, my general emotional detachment.
2. guilt trip me about dating people(there will be more explanation later).
3. guilt trip me about not coming home enough.
4. convey her belief that I am in fact, unlikely to bring anyone home.
5. imply, however unsaid, that my brother has been bringing women home.
See, most mothers try to make you date someone. Anyone, it doesn't matter who they are, as long as they don't have too many piercings or tattoos or missing parts.
My mother does not.
Given, I haven't brought anyone home for about two years now, and there's been no one I've even touched suggestively in that time period without piercings or tattoos or missing parts. Well, I suppose she wouldn't known that that one boy was missing a testicle, but that was a exceedingly brief dalliance anyway. Oh, and that boy that I didn't know had a piercing or a tattoo until ALL the clothing came off. That didn't go anywhere either. Seriously, at least get some other part pierced or tattooed as well so I'm not completely surprised. But, I digress.
My mother discourages me from doing anything that will result in the embodiment of the three constants in my family that we talk about the least - alcoholism, infidelity and depression, all three of which have led various members of aforementioned family to death, and worse, family drama. I am not certain of this yet, but I strongly suspect that she believes that any relationship that I embark on will be a step towards me proving that I am in fact, her daughter and of this slightly fucked up lineage. My reassurances that I have yet to fulfill all three constants within the context of any relationship, and generally only one with each relationship, don't seem to make her feel too much better.
I'm beginning to truly believe that what my mother wants is for me to date a lot, and keep on telling her stories, but never getting to the point where I'd have to think about whether I wanted to bring them home or not, because I wouldn't.
She knows I am her daughter.
She raised me without a religion. She said I could figure it out myself later. Recently, she asked "Have you found which God to follow?" I said, "I don't think there is one."
"That's fine," she said, "I think there is one."
And that was that.
My mother knows that I am completely capable of repeating every mistake she has ever made. She knows I have an adjustable sense of morality. She knows that I stubbornly remain in relationships until I finally crack and dump boys over AIM. But she also knows that I am silly and inconstant, but never stupid. She knows that I will have adventures. She thinks I could use some therapy, but won't suggest it. She thinks my father is responsible for my emotional apathy, because he too is often as responsive as a brick.
And despite all this -
"You are a smart girl," she says.
By that, she really means, "If you fuck up, I know you'll weather it fine, and when you're a old, single, crazy cat lady and your boobs are saggy, I trust that you will have definitely lived and hopefully loved."
Tuesday, November 13, 2007
walgreens, purveyor of cheap, disposable romanticism
I had a pretty aggravating day today where nothing much happened, which was much of the reason for the aggravation.
As I ended my work day, I decided that a hot, relaxing bath would be exactly what I needed.
However, having left work at 10pm, my choices were to stop at Ralphs or Walgreens after I parked my car. Walgreens was the slightly more scenic, relaxing route.
And with that, I present Exhibit A:
Not originally on my shopping list, but definitely on my receipt:
1. Flowers. Please note that I do regularly purchase flowers for my apartment, and that I am not pathetically buying myself flowers on a lonely Monday night. However, my choices at Walgreens were a reasonably not dead looking bunch of roses and daisies, and a rather wilted bunch of 12 red roses. Clearly, I went for the former.
2. Haagen Dazs' Butter Pecan. One of my standard favourites. Also, not much variety in the frozen food cabinet.
3. Pillar candles(vanilla scented and unscented ones) and a low bowl with rocks. I will now misuse the word "karma" and say that this is definitely karma for my having incessantly made fun of various friends for having low bowls with rocks. They are utterly useless. And yet, I now own a low bowl with rocks.
4. Architectural Digest. For reading while soaking in the tub. I know it's Architectural Digest. The magazine rack at Walgreens leaves a lot to be desired, and this was the only thing I would have picked up in any possible case when the other reasonable (somewhat) choices were Martha Stewart's Living and something extolling the virtues of full figured women.
Not pictured is a bottle of cheap wine, as Walgreens does not carry alcohol, a fact that I learned belatedly and to a great degree of disappointment.
The bath was good and appropriately relaxing, albeit feeling a little bit like the kind of bath you order at a trying-to-be-classy hotel, what with the cheesy flowers and candles but minus a hot room service attendant.
The point of this is that for approximately $20, and the assistance of your friendly neighbourhood drug store, you too can recreate a tacky, faux-romantic evening in the comfort of your own home. It's fun, really.
As I ended my work day, I decided that a hot, relaxing bath would be exactly what I needed.
However, having left work at 10pm, my choices were to stop at Ralphs or Walgreens after I parked my car. Walgreens was the slightly more scenic, relaxing route.
And with that, I present Exhibit A:
Not originally on my shopping list, but definitely on my receipt:
1. Flowers. Please note that I do regularly purchase flowers for my apartment, and that I am not pathetically buying myself flowers on a lonely Monday night. However, my choices at Walgreens were a reasonably not dead looking bunch of roses and daisies, and a rather wilted bunch of 12 red roses. Clearly, I went for the former.
2. Haagen Dazs' Butter Pecan. One of my standard favourites. Also, not much variety in the frozen food cabinet.
3. Pillar candles(vanilla scented and unscented ones) and a low bowl with rocks. I will now misuse the word "karma" and say that this is definitely karma for my having incessantly made fun of various friends for having low bowls with rocks. They are utterly useless. And yet, I now own a low bowl with rocks.
4. Architectural Digest. For reading while soaking in the tub. I know it's Architectural Digest. The magazine rack at Walgreens leaves a lot to be desired, and this was the only thing I would have picked up in any possible case when the other reasonable (somewhat) choices were Martha Stewart's Living and something extolling the virtues of full figured women.
Not pictured is a bottle of cheap wine, as Walgreens does not carry alcohol, a fact that I learned belatedly and to a great degree of disappointment.
The bath was good and appropriately relaxing, albeit feeling a little bit like the kind of bath you order at a trying-to-be-classy hotel, what with the cheesy flowers and candles but minus a hot room service attendant.
The point of this is that for approximately $20, and the assistance of your friendly neighbourhood drug store, you too can recreate a tacky, faux-romantic evening in the comfort of your own home. It's fun, really.
Monday, November 12, 2007
i'll be the one to break my heart
I was typing up an entry about something that made me want to reference "I Feel It All" by Feist, and googled it to make sure I didn't completely fuck up the lyrics. In the process, I found this video of her performing live(on a bus) on the Jimmy Kimmel show, noticed that one of the guys in her band was playing a melodion, and completely lost my train of thought.
But it would have been a very wistful entry, I'm sure. I didn't need more of those, anyway.
(the video is here.)
So, instead, this will be a blog about the melodion.
I'm going to venture a guess that the melodion I own is actually the same kind as the one in the video, since I simply can't think of anything else that would be made in that hideous shade of pistachio-ish green. Except the table that I'm typing this on, but my dad made it for me, and the green is charming, but I digress(again).
I played my melodion in an elementary school marching band. We had to learn songs very quickly, so instead of learning any sort of musical theory, she wrote numbers on little stickers, applied them to the keys and we memorized numbers and looked at our fingers. Upon reflection, while this is a fairly good way to make sure the melodion section of your marching band gets their chubby little fingers on the right keys, it is a terrible way to teach music.
Yes, in my elementary school, the marching band has a melodion section. I'm not sure what was up with that either.
It's a pretty awesome instrument, and I'm not really sure where it is now. I know it's in a box somewhere, but I'm uncertain which city or end of the state that particular box is in. I have a lot of boxes in my life right now, and it seems that I always will.
I've been thinking about a lot lately, though - maybe just because I can't find it. I'm used to dragging it out of storage once a month or so and playing a small section of a song my grandmother used to like a lot(which is all I remember how to play). I always thought it was a pretty silly instrument, but I really miss it now that it isn't around. I take a lot of things for granted, I think.
But it would have been a very wistful entry, I'm sure. I didn't need more of those, anyway.
(the video is here.)
So, instead, this will be a blog about the melodion.
I'm going to venture a guess that the melodion I own is actually the same kind as the one in the video, since I simply can't think of anything else that would be made in that hideous shade of pistachio-ish green. Except the table that I'm typing this on, but my dad made it for me, and the green is charming, but I digress(again).
I played my melodion in an elementary school marching band. We had to learn songs very quickly, so instead of learning any sort of musical theory, she wrote numbers on little stickers, applied them to the keys and we memorized numbers and looked at our fingers. Upon reflection, while this is a fairly good way to make sure the melodion section of your marching band gets their chubby little fingers on the right keys, it is a terrible way to teach music.
Yes, in my elementary school, the marching band has a melodion section. I'm not sure what was up with that either.
It's a pretty awesome instrument, and I'm not really sure where it is now. I know it's in a box somewhere, but I'm uncertain which city or end of the state that particular box is in. I have a lot of boxes in my life right now, and it seems that I always will.
I've been thinking about a lot lately, though - maybe just because I can't find it. I'm used to dragging it out of storage once a month or so and playing a small section of a song my grandmother used to like a lot(which is all I remember how to play). I always thought it was a pretty silly instrument, but I really miss it now that it isn't around. I take a lot of things for granted, I think.
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